It was late afternoon, and the weather had held up admirably for the remainder of their trek. Carl had not come hastening back with any warnings of danger ahead, and Bullroarer had been much relieved. The old saw, ‘No news is good news.’ kept running through his head.
An hour later and he turned south of the road onto a small dirt path, hardly big enough for the wagon to fit on. It was rutted even more than the main road, and looked to be infrequently used as well as in need of repair.
When they reached the court yard of the Forsaken Inn, it certainly did fit its name. The steps to the landing were bowed and one was broken. A window had been boarded over, and the ramshackle Inn was in desperate need of new paint. Bullroarer was relieved to see a small thin stream of smoke issuing from the chimney. ‘At least it’s not completely abandoned.’ He sighed to himself.
He had the companions unload the wagon and take the supplies into the Inn. The ponies he took to the dilapidated stable and found them each a stall where the roof above did not drip on them. Throwing a blanket over their backs, he fed and watered them and found some none too musty hay for the floor of their stalls.
The other companions had gone in by the time he got back to the Inn’s door. He stamped the mud from his feet off on the landing before he entered the scratched Inn door, taking care not to stamp too hard, lest his foot go through the flooring. Curious about the long, deep scratches on the thick oak door, he ran his hand lightly over them, gauging the depth of them.
His hand turned the handle, and he entered into the interior gloom of the Common Room. His eyes adjusted to the light, and he gasped quietly.
‘Oh, my!’ he muttered.
[ January 16, 2003: Message edited by: piosenniel ]
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Eldest, that’s what I am . . . I knew the dark under the stars when it was fearless - before the Dark Lord came from Outside.
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