Iona surveyed the dark and scattered ashes of the stables of the White Horse inn, before re-entering. The inn had regained its usual bustle, and most people were chatting quite contentedly again, pleased at the prospect of more work rebuilding the stable, one bright spot in a bad event. It was mostly those who had lost horses in the fire that were still grumbling and sad.
While serving some customers, and commiserating over the losses the fire had caused, Iona glanced around the room, and spotted a girl who looked not entirely unlike her, scrubbing one of the windows. The soot was very hard to get off, and the windows still had a dusty tinge. Iona hadn’t met this girl yet, and wiping her hands on her skirt, went over, held out her hand, and introduced herself.
“Hello..I don’t think we’ve met. I’m Iona, one of the serving maids. Are you new here?”
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'It must often be so, Sam, when things are in danger: someone has to give them up, lose them, so that others may keep them' ~Frodo
"Life is hard. After all, it kills you." - Katharine Hepburn
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