Her cloak wrapped tightly around her, Bęthberry pulled Cailleach up to slow her down as they approached the Seventh Star. It wouldn't do to arrive in a mad rush and the horse needed care first.
After stabling the mare and seeing her contented with hot mash and hay, Bęthberry picked up her bundles and boxes and made her way towards the pristine white walls of the Seventh Star. She remembered her arrival a year ago, pensive and sad. So much had happened since then. This year she brought pomegranates and nuts, all manner of nuts from walnuts and pecans to cashews and hazelnuts and groundnuts. Wyrd had told her the mouse still roamed the Great Hall. She was glad he had let the little creature go; she felt in her pocket. Yes, it was there. A small piece of orange peel. She would have to leave it by the fireplace in hopes it would be found there.
The noisy chatter of the Inn spoke of its popularity. It was good to see it up and running again. Entering the door, she was immediately noticed by Estelyn, whose questioning face deserved an answer. Bęthberry hurried over.
"Yes, he has recovered. But off now on his own pursuits. Perhaps you know what is afoot. He would speak not to me of his illness and pain."
A sharp look from the woman cautioned Bęthberry to say no more of the previous innkeeper.
"I have brought pomegranates this year as my gift. Where shall I leave them?"
Estelyn called Mellonin over, for she would know where to keep them. The three clasped hands in fellowship and began to reminisce and then sought the fire to warm Bęthberry's bones, chilled by the long days' ride. There was much to catch up on.
<font size=1 color=339966>[ 2:01 PM December 15, 2003: Message edited by: Bęthberry ]
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I’ll sing his roots off. I’ll sing a wind up and blow leaf and branch away.
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