[Elora]

Vanwe woke somewhat confused and startled. She had no idea how she came to be in possession of the horse blanket that was presently wrapped around her. Nor could she rightly say how she had come by a partially stale loaf of bread. Nearby rested an open saddle bag that did not belong to her. She stared at it in befuddlement until again she heard a sound that came from nearby. Through the cracked stall door she had tucked herself behind she peered into the darkened stall. The storm had lent a murky cast to what little light managed to struggle through their veil.

She could make out boots, a man's if she judged the size correctly and her heart sank a little further into her stomach. Daring not to push the blanket or saddle bag from her and beneath the straw, Vanwe did as best she could to uncurl her legs from beneath her. The comfort of being dry was now distant from her mind. This was all too familiar for her liking. Eyes fixed on the pair of boots she could see, Vanwe crouched as her mind spun. She could be quiet. It was a skill she had come to depend upon when she found herself in such predictaments. She had chosen the stall furthermost from the door so as to avoid any rain blown through the door. It meant no likely route past the man that stood in the stables.

Vanwe dared glance around her. There was no door in the back of the stables. Her cheeks coloured faintly at her foolishness. What had she been thinking to move into the stables and appropriate other people's blankets and stale bread. Where she came from, theft brought a harsh and sudden penalty and she flexed the fingers of her right hand as she recalled witnessing such justice as a child. Another sound of boots moving in the straw brought eyes that gleamed with finely honed fear sharply back into focus.

Above her was a ladder which lead to the overhead hay loft. If she was fast, and she could be, she could climb and use the upper loft as her path to the door. The drop to the door could be managed if she rolled correctly. The man circled as he looked around the stable, his horse nickering softly. She had not time to disregard the blanket, and so with it still hooked over her shoulders Vanwe rose when the man had turned away to examine the other corner.

She fled lightly up the ladder in a swirl of hair and skirts and dove behind the nearest bail of hay. Dust plumed towards the rafters above her and tickled her nose as she landed. But what was worse than that was the sound of a faint thunk as her pouch dropped to the stable floor. Vanwe sucked in a startled breath and froze. Below, the sound of feet crossing to her pouch sounded and she risked crawling forward on her stomach to peer from the loft. She got to the edge just in time to see the man bend and retrieve her pouch.

Her eyes went wide as he straightened, for within it was all her worldly possessions. She watched him open the strings and tip the contents into his outstretched hand. The pencil fell to the floor, her three coppers landed on top of her notes and a sick feeling spun in her stomach with the bread. She could not leave without the notes. The coins she would make do without.

She glanced towards the stable doors through which freedom tantilisingly beckonned and then back at the man below. With shock she realised he was staring up at her. Their eyes met in a flash. Vanwe opened her mouth and then closed it again as she shook her head lightly in dismay, blonde hair swaying around her face in a pale curtain dotted with straw.

"Please," she began.

There was nothing else for it. She could not go without the notes for they represented all she had. The names of her parents were everything she could call her own. Not even could she call the village in Harad her own home, for it had never been. The villagers themselves had seen to that. With memories of desert hardened men pressing close to her, Vanwe sighed and slowly got to her feet. Not so quickly did she now descend the ladder and she hesitantly turned to face the man who waited below.

Her dress had lost any advantage of the airing of the night before, and tousseled and dusty Vanwe slowly advanced to stand just out of his reach as best she could judge. She knew better than to speak first. Wide eyes in a grave youthful face steadily watched him as she waited for him to speak.

Her left hand was wrapped around her slim right wrist as though to guard against the axe's bigght which would surely follow, for she was thief, she had no kin to buy her reprieve and worst of all she had been foolish enough to allow herself to be caught. It was never as safe as it seems, even at nice inns like this, when you had no business in the wider world. As he studied her crumpled appearance, Vanwe braced herself for what would follow.