Berry the Shew sat in his seat in the inn, his cloak again pulled down to hide his scars, maybe not as far as before, he was getting used to them, and he felt less customers staring at him now he was becoming a regular. This had not been the best week as far as adentures had gone, but it had some positives, he thought as he carefully sipped his bramble gin, savouring the warmth and knowing he would never be that cold, wet or miserable slave again. The rest of the gang was looking really positive, almost as if they had won, rather than lost, each of them had tales to tell, but Berry was not sure they should be celebrating so hard. Different sized recepticles were being used around the table, from himself and the mice using thimbles, to Bowie and L'Otter with flaggons and even fine crystal glasses, each creature had the right sized glass (or thing) for them, and were certainly emptyingg them with gusto. L'Otter sat opposite, reclining on an battered arm-chair, patches of fur reg...