The Barrow-Downs Discussion Forum - View Single Post - The Green Dragon Inn

Primrose Bolger · 02-28-2004, 03:43 PM

Kiera was sitting on the oak's wide branch, stringing some pebbles from the stream together with a length of thin leather cord. The pebbles had taken some time to drill through with her little hand tool, and then, of course, she had needed to smooth and polish them a bit. The ones she had picked were glittery in the filtered light beneath the oak leaves as she held them up on the tallowed cord, chosen for the bits of crystal mixed in the dark gray of the river stone. Between them she put short spacers made from slender wands of willow – the one that wept near the little stream. In the center of the string, she affixed the sky-blue robin’s feather she had found in her little pouch. She could see it now, catching the breeze as if to fly away.

Done, she held the little necklace up. It would go about the neck of the little statue she had carved for the Inn. Stone, water, air, and wood. It would protect the Inn from unwelcome creatures and ward off misfortune. Kiera drew out the small stone Drughu figure her mother had given her when she’d set out on this journey. It had kept her well these many months; she hoped hers would serve the Inn as well.

Engrossed in her work, she did not hear the old man approach until he spoke. Lying flat on her stomach, she pushed the leaves apart a little and stared down at him. His pipe held aloft, he spoke softly. She grinned at him, shaking her head to show she would not mind the smoke. Her own people smoked the wild, sweet leaf that grew on the edges of their forest. It was of one kind only in her land, but her travels had shown that other folk had many varieties of it that they used.

When he had returned from lighting his pipe, she peeped through the leaves again. Little rings of smoke drifted up to her, and she sniffed them appreciatively. Daring a little more bravery than usual to her, she reached one thin nut brown arm toward the old fellow. In her hand was clasped the end of her own pipe, and she knocked it gently on the oak’s trunk, drawing the attention of the man below.

02-28-2004, 03:43 PM	#43
Primrose Bolger Wight Join Date: Sep 2003 Location: Near Bywater Pool Posts: 196	Kiera was sitting on the oak's wide branch, stringing some pebbles from the stream together with a length of thin leather cord. The pebbles had taken some time to drill through with her little hand tool, and then, of course, she had needed to smooth and polish them a bit. The ones she had picked were glittery in the filtered light beneath the oak leaves as she held them up on the tallowed cord, chosen for the bits of crystal mixed in the dark gray of the river stone. Between them she put short spacers made from slender wands of willow – the one that wept near the little stream. In the center of the string, she affixed the sky-blue robin’s feather she had found in her little pouch. She could see it now, catching the breeze as if to fly away. Done, she held the little necklace up. It would go about the neck of the little statue she had carved for the Inn. Stone, water, air, and wood. It would protect the Inn from unwelcome creatures and ward off misfortune. Kiera drew out the small stone Drughu figure her mother had given her when she’d set out on this journey. It had kept her well these many months; she hoped hers would serve the Inn as well. Engrossed in her work, she did not hear the old man approach until he spoke. Lying flat on her stomach, she pushed the leaves apart a little and stared down at him. His pipe held aloft, he spoke softly. She grinned at him, shaking her head to show she would not mind the smoke. Her own people smoked the wild, sweet leaf that grew on the edges of their forest. It was of one kind only in her land, but her travels had shown that other folk had many varieties of it that they used. When he had returned from lighting his pipe, she peeped through the leaves again. Little rings of smoke drifted up to her, and she sniffed them appreciatively. Daring a little more bravery than usual to her, she reached one thin nut brown arm toward the old fellow. In her hand was clasped the end of her own pipe, and she knocked it gently on the oak’s trunk, drawing the attention of the man below. Last edited by Primrose Bolger; 02-28-2004 at 03:47 PM.