cedmon

Daurrie, the youngest of the sons of Gurni, had once more forgotten to pick up the order of fresh cheese that was awaiting them at the markets of Bree. Lunch was served and the young Silvan handed over the rest of the tavern business to Dal, hoping to be able to rush to Bree and pick up the forgotten crate before the inn would close for the day.

(A continuaution of In Your Room, part 1)

Some few days after the company’s return from Angmar.

A flutter of fabric, over the stairs. Cloaked. Hooded.

Some few days after the company’s return from Angmar.

Soft light from a setting sun danced along the edges of the tall grass as it swayed. A breeze moved it, almost melodically so. A late summer's warmth laid on his skin as he turned and looked around. 

A flutter of a green cloak alerted him to the one some odd steps before him. Unhooded, watching, his hands laying still at his side as if they never needed to grasp a weapon.

Galtharian poked his head into the room, glancing around the dusty room cautiously before opening the door fully. His face lit up as he saw the figure inside. He dashed in, unwrapping the parcel he was carrying and setting down the several bottles on the top of the papers and maps on the table. He grabbed two empty mugs from the nightstand next to them, hopping over the books that were stacked all over the floor. 

A melodic chuckle escaped the figure as it fell softly into the tall grass from it's refuge upon the treetops. The bear that was pursuing him had gone limp, punctured with several arrows. Galtharian looked up, meeting the eyes of the archer, unable to hide the almost guilty expression in his face.

The letter is neatly folded, the visible side only being labeled with "For Ninimil" in small script. It sits atop the heavy covers decorating a certain patron's bed, presumably having been left there while the room was empty. Once unfolded, the page shows a carefully written note, the handwriting hinting it was written by a scholarly type or someone who has sent one too many letters.

The fire was lit without much difficulty. He had watched others do it so many times in recent days that his movements started forming somewhat of a routine. He knew he was being helpful, and he relished in that feeling.