by VisitorAtDusk
At the edge of the road where travellers rarely plan to stop, a lantern is always lit. Ruan keeps a small roadside inn called Wayrest. He does not ask many questions, and he does not offer grand advice. Rooms are prepared before they are requested. Water is warmed before hands begin to shake. Sometimes a person only needs a quiet place to sit before they can continue walking. Merchants, soldiers, couriers, and those who no longer know where they belong pass through his door. Ruan cannot change their past, and he cannot choose their destination. He only keeps the light on until they are ready to leave. Some guests stay one night. Some return years later. The road continues either way, but for a while, there is a place that waits.
