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The werewolf, sitting at the bar on a high stool, was sipping an absinthe cocktail. At that moment, life didn't seem so bad to her. But something persistently scratched at her memory, like a splinter, an elusive thought. "Wait, HOW did he say his name was???" she suddenly caught the fleeting thought. "Eorden... Eorgel... Eordel Eerkreftain??? Could it be him, the one I read about in the newsfeed on one of the websites?"
The absinthe suddenly tasted three times more bitter. The werewolf quickly got up from the stool, threw a crumpled bill on the counter, and went to her fourth room. Once inside, she locked all the locks, and only then did she feel safe.