[Envinyatar]

He had forgotten to draw the curtains when he went to bed. The sun streamed in, a bright sharp, merciless blade of light, hitting him squarely in the face. He threw his arm over his face and groaned. His head was pounding from the ale he’d had last night, and the night, or what there was of it for him, had been spent in restless sleep.

Derufin could hear the horses stamping in their stalls. By the Stars! It sounds as if we have a pack of mûmakil quartering here! The soft refrain of some eastern melody broke through his complaint, and he wondered if indeed a troop of Haradrim had come to the Inn with their great beasts. He listened for a while as it became softer and then faded away.

He sat up carefully, massaging his temples as he did so, willing his stomach to quiet down. What had possessed him to think he could take in so much last night without consequence!

Staggering to his feet he felt his way out to the stable, keeping his eyes half closed, seeking the deep shadow of the interior. Derufin dared to open his eyes when he reached the middle of the building. Bright light flooded his sensitive sight and he snapped them shut once again. ‘Who left those bay doors open?’ he asked, then remembered that Vanwe was bunking in the loft, and had probably wanted to have the starlight admitted access to her quarters.

He opened his eyes gingerly once again, stepping into the cool darkness of one of the empty stalls. Someone had been at work already, cleaning them out. And he could see the horses had been fed and watered. Vanwe! She was proving a useful person to have around.

He winced as he walked down the aisle between the stalls, unlatching each door to bring the occupant out. His headache was beating an insistent tattoo on the interior of his skull, but the horses and ponies needed to go out to the large pen in the Inn yard. ‘Falmar was the last he let out, and she eyed the man with disbelief as he shooed her from the comforts of her stall. ‘Come on, girl. The fresh air will do you good, and you can sleep out there as well as in here.’

Once done, and the gate to the pen secured, Derufin walked slowly to the back entrance into the kitchen. Cook eyed the haggard face of the unkempt Man and shook her head at him.

‘No lectures, please!’ he pleaded, sitting down heavily at the kitchen’s table. ‘Just a cup of strong tea, if you would.’ His voice trailed off and he looked at her with a sheepish expression on his face.

‘And a dose of that willowbark powder, too, if you please, Cook. My head is pounding . . .’