Ale slopped onto the rough hewn table as he poured himself yet another pint. The few other customers in the dark and filthy tavern would assume him to be far more in his cups then he actually was; much of the nights libations had gone onto the sawdust covered floor, rather then down his throat. He knew the message had been slipped in among the drawings of wolves - but would Augusta find it? Would she see the hidden message in the background of the altered picture?

And if she found and understood the message, would she care enough to act on it? That of course was the ultimate question. It had been years, and they hadn't parted under the most cordial of circumstances. He cursed under his breath, far more fluently then he should have been able to curse at this stage of his suppossed inebriation. He would have to watch that, he cautioned himself, lolling back against the wall. He'd spent far too much time in convincing the locals he was nothing but a sot to let a few muttered words blow his cover at this point.