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Old 12-29-2003, 11:51 AM   #13
Desultory Dwimmerlaik
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Pio's post - Piosenniel

‘Ammë! I’m thirsty! Are we there yet?!’

Cami, the fidgety little five year old was tucked in close against her mother, shielded from the morning’s breeze by the folds of the great blue cloak. Dark brown curls surrounded the fair face that poked itself out through the woolen edges, and curious brown eyes swept the road ahead for their promised destination. She wished that her mother’s mount would sprout wings like the dragons from the stories and fly them to the Inn at a faster pace. Her brother and sister rode their own horses, and showed their impatience by riding ahead and racing back as their mother called to them.

The four riders had just come from a brief visit to the city’s great library. Pio was returning a volume she had borrowed just yesterday, she told the pale librarian who stood blinking into the morning sunlight at the great door. A frown puckered his brow until she mentioned the name of the senior docent who had helped her yesterday. Then, he took the leather bound log, Cemendil’s Journal, with a smile, saying he would see it safely back to its place. The Elf thanked him, returning the smile, and the four remounted their horses and set off for some refreshments at The Seventh Star Inn.

‘You shall just have to have patience!’ piped the twin chorus of the young girl’s siblings, impishly echoing the phrase they had been hearing now for the last half hour. Gilwen and Isilmir, six years old, their black hair and grey eyes a mirror for each other, broke into laughter at their mimicry. They urged their ponies alongside their mother’s horse and grinned up wickedly at their little sister – who promptly stuck out her tongue at them.

At long last, at least to the little girl, though if truth be told it was only another quarter of an hour, the Inn hove into view as they crested a rise in the road. At a nod from their mother, Gilwen and Isilmir took off at a gallop toward The Seventh Star, their excited voices challenging each other to a race.

Little Cami stretched herself low over the horse’s neck. ‘We could beat them, Sinda,’ she whispered in a coaxing voice, her little fingers winding themselves into the coarse salt and pepper hairs of the grey gelding’s mane. Pio grinned as the horse flicked his ears back toward Cami, indicating an interest in showing up the ponies. She flicked the reins gently and urged him to a faster pace with a light tap of her heels against his flanks.


A short time later the four riders found themselves in the front yard of the Inn. In a rush and a chorus of laughter they dismounted, Gilwen arguing good-naturedly with her brother that her pony’s nose had been the first to the hitching post. Isilmir took the reins of the other two mounts and handed them along with his own to the grey clad hostler who approached.

Shaking the dust off their cloaks, and pushing their wind tousled hair back from their reddened cheeks, the chattering trio ascended the steps, Pio in tow. Their little voices were loud in the near emptiness of the Common Room as they burst through the door.

‘A ginger beer for me! And me!’ cried the two girls, dashing for a table near the fire. ‘A birch beer for me,’ requested Isilmir, in a considering tone to the grey clad server who had hastened to see to their needs. He waited for his mother and sisters to take their seats, then took his own.

Pio, her eyes sweeping the room for a familiar face, asked for a glass of Southron red, if they had it. And could he ask Master Rimbaud to come speak with her for a moment. The server nodded politely to her and hurried away, but before he reached the bar, he was called over by another group at a nearby table – the wagoneer’s group from The Silver Swan ship that had recently delivered wines to the Inn. They nodded unseen toward Pio and her children, then sent the server on his way.

Last edited by piosenniel; 04-07-2004 at 11:36 AM.
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