Opening the door timidly, rosy cheeked lady poked her head around the door to take a peek around the Inn. With a tiny curve of her lips, she stepped inside and almost laughed aloud with delight. She leaped aside from the doorway to make room for others coming in, clasped her hands in front of her and was surprised at how dirty her dress had already become. The soft, flowing material of her pink dress had been torn and splattered with mud, but unfortunately was still quiet recognizable as having once been pink.
With a little trill, she approached the bar and asked for some water, reminding herself that her coin purse was light. She sipped her water and thought of all that had happened to her, though she had been gone but two days. More excitement than she had had her whole life. She wanted to be sure to remember these events, even if she was caught in the end and since she was never taught properly how to write she would have to improvise. Finding a seat and flipping back her auburn hair, she pulled a piece of charcoal she had found out of the little leather bag she carried. With the paper under her hands, she made the first line and began drawing the inn and it's inhabitants. Already, carefully folded away in her bag, she had her drawings of her first night in the woods and the market where they had accused her of stealing.
While she was drawing, she paused to wondered if maybe the man from the market was here. There were many people, and some of them cloaked, it was hard to tell but it would have been quite the coincidence had he been. She had a picture of him too, as he confronted the vile merchant. As she remembered the event, she frowned, remembering how she had never gotten the opportunity to thank him and he deserved her thanks if not more.
[ May 13, 2003: Message edited by: The Harpest ]
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