Wanderer

“Not all who wander are lost.” said the man, his back against the wall, accompanied by a large pack sitting next to him which also served as his only table companion. The Pub went silent. The room turned and faced the man. His hair was a shaggy brown that curled at the tips and hovered above tempting green eyes, and his skinny pink lips sat crooked on his face in a smirk that featured his dimples. His look encouraged the men about him to counter his statement. The green-eyed traveler fingered the glass of amber ale in front of him, concentrating on the swirling liquid inside. The silence had left the room feeling stagnant and overly warm until a rosy man with cheeks scarlet from drinking began to laugh, jostling his own glass and spilling the liquid on the table. The green-eyed traveler began to laugh as well and soon the room flamed and roared with a boisterous laughter.

“Where are you from laddy?” slurred a man with a thick Irish accent.

“I’m from New Zealand.” the traveler replied eyes glittering.

The men’s bellies, warmed by the crackling hearth, shook with liquid every time they laughed. The windows had coated with frost on the outside making the view from within seem like a dreamy white cloud.

“The land down under, aye” a bearded man commented as he stroked the curly salt and pepper hair, that covered his chubby cheeks.

“Didn’t Kathline’s kid sister move down there with ‘er ‘usband?” enquired another man clutching a gray page-boy hat in one hand and a half empty glass in the other.

“No, Marian moved to Spain, you eejit.” the thick woman said behind the bar smacking the man with the hat in the back off the head with a white towel. Men snickered about the room, as the woman smirked to herself and continued working at a spot with her towel on the glasses.