Some nights, they all return.
The fire crackles low, the lamps hum, and the Tavern remembers every name.
The Raccoon grins through smoke.
The Fox spins his stories.
The Squirrel laughs behind the bar, and the Mice dance like candlelight come alive.
The Rat stirs his secrets; the Rabbit drinks what peace he can find.
The Mare sings, the Bat tallies debts, and the Possum hums in the rafters.
The Bear writes philosophy on tavern walls,
the Ravens toast the lost,
and the Butcher keeps his blade a little too clean.
The Cat watches. The Raven waits.
Outside, the sign still swings.
Welcome to Ancestors Tavern — where every soul has a story, and none are told for free.
The First Entry
