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The cool morning air came through the open window in gentle breaths, lifting the cotton curtains. Birds sang in the trees and a little cat, out for some early hunting, sat by and watched, too sleepy yet to do much more than twitch his tail at them. Outside the world was waking up but in her bed chamber Jinniver still slept soundly. The patchwork counterpane was tucked tightly around her and in her arms she clutched a pillow.
Jinniver’s clothes lay in a messy pile on the floor where she had climbed out of them last night, too tired to delay getting to bed any longer than necessary. One boot was at the foot of the bed, and the other under the window, where she had balanced on one leg while trying to undo her laces and open the window at the same time. She had felt stifled by the heat which came up through the floorboards and had felt that if the window wasn’t left open it would be too hot to sleep. Sometime during the night, she had begun to feel cold, but rather than get up and close the window she had simply rolled herself snugly into the counterpane.
Her hair had been loosened and it lay in a tangled chestnut heap about her head, and her eyes twitched a little as she dreamed. Into her dreams came a picture of men riding horses, shouting as they galloped. The land they rode through was empty and windswept, but they drew close to a hill, to the hill at Bree, and the land became green and fresh. Night fell in her dreams and she felt she was riding with the men, breathless and panicky as they hurried on towards her own farm. She saw her niece standing by the roadside, and her father ran out shouting in desperation as one of the men reached out and took hold of the girl’s arm without slackening his pace. “No!” she shouted, and found she had no weapons, nothing to stop this from happening. “No!”
Jinniver choked as she shouted and her eyes opened, their pale blue colour tinged with a little redness. She rolled over and blinked, realising she was in her room at the inn, and that she had dreamed again.
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