The Green Dragon Inn #11 - The Last Chapter

[Fordim Hedgethistle]

Snaveling almost laughed aloud at the question. What has happened, indeed? he thought. How could he ever explain it to anyone, even to an Elf, without a week's worth of explanations? The facts in and of themselves were easily and soon given, but the facts were far from the only things that had happened. Snaveling's whole life had changed, in an instant of overpowering recognition and shattering glass. He was not alone in the world. He had a family. There was someone in the world to whom he was joined irrevocably, and this someone was already as dear to him as his own life.

But what else had happened? She had fallen in love with him, and he had rejected her. She had opened her heart to him and he had given it back to her on a platter with gashes and wounds upon it. She did not know that he was her grandfather, and he could think of no way to tell her.

"What has happened?" he echoed her words aloud, dully. He could think of nothing else to say but the truth. "Aman is my grand-daughter, though she knows it not, and I fear that of all the trials of my life, this will prove to be the greatest and the most painful for me."

Mithalwen's mouth fell open in surprise, and her tongue was stopped. He met her eyes and opened his mind to her, pouring out only the wave of feeling that threatened to overwhelm him in a moment. Here, he thought. This is what's happened.

[Mithalwen]

"Need it be so?" Mithalwen answered him silently - if any in the inn had been interested in the travellers it would have been a strange sight, the elf and the dunadan, passing thought from mind to mind eyes flickering.

" You have only rejected a kind of love you could not have possibly accepted. The bonds of kinship run deep, she may have sensed the connection between you at a deep level and interpreted it in the only way that made sense to her. Once she knows the blood connection she will be able to interpret he feelings correctly. Yes she is hurt... but that is better than indifferent. She has shown compassion for your plight not knowing that she might be its balm.... if you will, I will speak to her for you for it would be natural for her to vent her shock in anger and it is better if that is not directed at you. This might end well ... Aman has a brave spirit and a generous heart. trust her" These last words Mithalwen had spoken aloud.

[Amanaduial the archer]

Aman wrinkled her nose pleasantly at the particularly open nature of the question. "News, you say? Well, sir, that depends on exactly how long you've been away..."

"Excuse me..." A voice interrupted Aman and she turned, eyebrows raised, to the man who had interrupted. As she recognised him, her eyes widened in surprise. The blond haired man gave a cheeky smile, winked, and continued, "I really do hate to barge in on your conversation...But could I get a refill."

"Good lord, what on earth are you doing here, To-"

"Well, you know, just in passing, just in passing," John cut her off before she said his name, and the suddeness of his reply seemed rather incongruent with his casual manner. She narrowed her eyes slightly, but didn't think anything of it. Excusing herself from Isilme's company - the elf seemed a little bemused but didn't appear to mind the interruption - Aman darted out from behind the bar and took John's hand, shaking it enthusiastically. "Just in passing? Scoundrel, this is the Shire, to just be passing from Rohan - psh!" Aman snorted derisively. The man grinned at her. "Well, maybe a little twist of the truth there." He displayed his teeth widely in a good natured grin as he returned Aman's handshake, his pleasant, solid features still the same as Aman had ever remembered them. He shrugged enigmatically. "But what the hey - ol' John is here now, to see his brother's favourite horsewhisperer!"

Aman hesitated for a moment, and a flicker of confusion shivered across her features as she noted the second, rather startling inconsistency in what John had said: the very fact of his name. "'John'? What do you-"

John laughed, still beaming easily, but his eyes darted quickly away from her, as if worried someone else might have heard then he opened his arms and Aman, pushing her concerns to one side, embraced her old friend. For she and 'John' went back a long way - as the man had said, Aman had worked for some time as a horse trainer for Elisar, John’s eldest brother, during which time she had made a select group of fine friends – John being one of them. But the Rohirrim man had never been desperately secretive – here, he hadn’t given a straight answer to a single thing Aman had said. Breaking the embrace and looking at it, Aman gave John a curious smile, as if about to question him, when the conversation was broken into by the gruff voice of a dwarf. “Ask for the strongest stuff they’ve got,” he called over jokingly. John turned and raised an eyebrow at the dwarf, then turned back to Aman, who nodded and returned behind the bar to pour two glasses, one of the finest ale, the other of a rich dark beer which in the past had been a favourite of Dwarin, a previous Innkeeper. Handing the two glasses to John, Aman excused herself and began her round about the room, saying she would speak with him later and catch up.

But having gone all around the room and visited nearly every nook and cranny, Aman could not avoid it any more: she felt strangely drawn towards the table at which Snaveling sat. With an empty glass. That's obviously what I feel drawn to. Professional duty and all... Aman smiled wryly to herself, rolling her eyes at the thought, but nonetheless she straightened up, collected various glasses together, and made for Snaveling. But even eavesdropping without meaning to can have rather intriguing results...

"...This might end well ... Aman has a brave spirit and a generous heart. Trust her."

"Complimentary words, Mithalwen, what did I do to deserve such an honour?"

Both Snaveling and Mithalwen leapt around like guilty children when Aman spoke, like rabbits caught in a sudden burst of torchlight. She laughed at their shock, but inside felt unease stir - a feeling that was becoming familiar where Snaveling was concerned. She creased her eyebrows slightly, still half smiling as she looked from one guilty face to the other. "What is it...?"

[peral]

Sharya looked gratefully at the cook and accepted the offered apron before quickly setting to work on the mushrooms and onions. She had done this type of work before, not for a long time, but her fingers soon remembered their past dexterity with kitchenwork as she sliced up the onions. The pile seemed neverending, but, Sharya reminded herself, she was cutting onions for a massive room of hungry inn patrons. Not to mention that most of them were hobbits and if what she had heard about hobbits were half true, she would be here a long time cutting up vegetables. However, she set her mind to enjoy the time cutting up vegetables and let her mind wander as her hands did the chopping.

***

"Father!" the girl cried running towards him. The man didn't look as if he had seen a bed or bath for weeks on end, yet still carried a happy look as he swept the girl up into his arms.

"Sharya!" he exclaimed as he scooped her up, "You're getting heavier and taller every time I come home."

"Ma says I'm growing taller everyday," the girl declared proudly. "She reck'ns I'll be taller than her one day."

"I'm sure you will be," confirmed the man. "Now, have you been a good girl since I left?"

The girl nodded. "I helped with everything everyday."

"Every day?" queried the man.

"Well...almost everyday," answered the girl sheepishly, caught out in a lie.

"We're going to have to do better than that when I'm home," said the man, carrying the girl into the house.

***

The onions seemed to be finished too quickly. And Sharya found it time to start on the mushrooms. She wrinkled her nose. Mushrooms, the bane of her life, how she hated them. Yet, these little hobbits seemed to adore them to no end. Still, what had to be done had to be done and she proceeded to chop them up as well. However, she considered, mushrooms were heaps easier to chop up than onions. This strange thought cheered her up substantially and soon the mushrooms were done as well. Smiling at her accomplishment, she went on to layering them in the pie pans. When this job was done as well, she went to tell the Cook.

[piosenniel]

~*~ GREEN DRAGON INN FACTS ~*~

The Green Dragon Inn is located in Bywater, just off the Great East-West Road.

It is the 4th Age, year 12. By the Shire Calendar it is year 1433 S.R. (Shire Reckoning).

King Elessar is on the throne of the Reunited Kingdom of Arnor and Gondor.

Mirkwood has been reclaimed by the Elves and is now called Eryn Lasgalen.

Paladdin Took, Pippin’s father, is Thain of the Shire. (Thain is an honorary title for the military leader of the Shire. The title has been held in the Took Family since the position was first established in 3rd Age 1979 with Bucca of the Marish as First Thain.) Paladdin Took dies in year 13, and will be succeeded by his son, Peregrin, ‘Pippin’, Took.

Samwise Gamgee is Mayor of the Shire, having succeeded Will Whitfoot in 1427 S.R.

The Innkeeper, in the Green Dragon Inn of this forum, is: Aman – a young woman from Rohan.

Before her, the Innkeeper was Piosenniel, and before her it was Dwarin, the Dwarf.

*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*+

Other ongoing characters in the Inn:

Ruby Brown, Hobbit – not married – server and maid

Buttercup Brownlock, Hobbit – not married – kitchen assistant and maid

Vinca Bunce, widowed, Inn Cook (character played by Piosenniel)

Derufin, General handyman/jack-of-all-trades round the Inn; Man from southwestern Gondor (played by Envinyatar)

Zimzi (Zimziran), wife to Derufin; a skilled potter from Lindon(played by Pio)

Meriadoc - Stablemaster

*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*+

Ongoing characters from outside the Inn:

Halfred Whitfoot – local Shiriff from Bywater and Postmaster for this area of the Shire; his pony’s name is Dumpling.

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Please Note:

No 'SAVES' are allowed in the Inn (except for modifications needed to be made by the Moderators or Innkeeper).

With the exception of the Innkeeper and the Moderators, no OOC (Out Of Character) comments are allowed in the Inn.

Only the Innkeeper, Amanaduial, or the Moderators move the timeline for the Inn forward.

Visitors to the Inn will need to read the posts that come before theirs to get an idea of what time it is in the Shire, what the weather is like, and what is happening.

No violence is allowed in the Inn or on Inn grounds.

Please be familiar with the rules for the Inn and Games in The Red Book of Westmarch, the first topic in the Shire.

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About Elves in Shire RPG's:

Please use this description from Tolkien when crafting an Elf:

Return of the King – Appendix F: Tolkien’s description for the Quendi (The Speakers) – the name given to the Elves by themselves after they first awoke in Middle-earth.

“They were a race high and beautiful, the older Children of the world, and among them the Eldar were as Kings, who now are gone: the People of the Great Journey, the People of the Stars. They were tall, fair of skin and grey-eyed, though their locks were dark, save in the golden house of Finrod; and their voices had more melodies than any mortal voice that is now heard . . .”

Please use this as a guideline for describing your Elven character’s appearance.

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EVERYONE

Please be familiar with The Red Book of Westmarch which gives the rules for posting in the Shire RPG's and in The Green Dragon Inn.

Thanks!

Piosenniel, Shire Moderator

[piosenniel]

Time in the Shire

It is now evening. Supper is being served:

Stewed chicken with taters and carrots; mushroom pie; fresh garden peas with mint and butter; big fluffy biscuits with plenty of butter and honey and jam.

Spice cake full of plump sweet raisins iced with thick vanilla frosting.

And numerous beverages to suit anyone's needs.

---

The night is clear; the stars bright points of light studding the darkness. It is chilly with the promise of a spring storm later in the night . . .

[Mithalwen]

Mithalwen reflected that it was the second time Aman had startled them. There was something unusual about this young woman - or else Mithalwen's senses were dulled by the hubbub and unfamiliarity of the inn. Few mortals can catch an elf off guard even if they are not consciously on their guard.

"Aman, will you join us?" Mithalwen poured three generous glasses from the bottle she had brought over. "Then perhaps we can resolve the misunderstandings and grief that have occured ... and there are one or two more trivial matters I would ask your counsel on... but " Mithalwen hesitated .. the situation stretched even elvish skill in language, and though these few days in the shire had refreshed her long unused Westron she wished she could speak in her own tongue - but while Snaveling would cope she did not think that maids of rohan were raised to use the elvish tongue. "Forgive me, what I am about to say is likely to surprise you, shock you even and I may ask questions you find intrusive after such slight acquaintanceship, but I ask that you hear me out?"

Aman took a good sip of of wine and nodded her assent, although her gaze met the elf's grey eyes steadily she could not but be aware of the tension that filled Snaveling. They formed a strange triptych in the relative seclusion of their shadowed corner. The shabby dunedain lord flanked by two women, the golden maid of Rohan, elven fair and her pale reflection, the ageless elfwoman, silver haired and grey clad. However in Mithalwen's eyes, Aman saw compassion fuelled by the memory of loss and long sorrow. They implored her to listen and understand and the words though spoken seemed to carry soothing melodies, although at first she was bewildered since Mithalwen was telling her things she already knew - of Snaveling's lost family.

" Since you spoke this afternoon, Tar Corondir, has come to a certain realisation, but only you can confirm if it is really true.... " time to utter those words which no matter how gently introduced were likely to have the same effect on Aman's mind as spring had on ice floes, words that might shatter her world - but also remake it, and Snaveling's. she laid a gentle hand on Aman's

"Tar-Corondir has noticed a ressemblance between you and his late wife, he believes you may be his lost son's child. ... There is a connection between you I deem ... I know little of your history but is it possible that it is true - or is it only that his wish sees a likeness ?"

[Encaitare]

Caity had slipped away from the others some time ago, in fact, just after young Marigold's outburst. She had felt terribly awkward upon hearing Aman and Snaveling's past revealed in front of the whole of the Inn, and so she had quietly taken her leave, figuring that it was best to leave those involved on their own for a while.

She had strolled around outdoors for a bit as the weather cleared up, feeling the mud squelching between her toes and grinning to herself at the oddly pleasant sensation. After a substantial amount of roaming the area and playing idle tunes on her whistle, she returned to the inn with a growling stomach as her motivation, carefully wiping her feet on the grass so she wouldn't get the floors very dirty.

The homey and delicious smell of chicken and mushrooms greeted her as she opened the door; she found herself a table and ordered a plate of chicken and taters and mushroom pie with a mug of hot cider. She dug in, trying to mind her own business but at the same time wondering exactly what had occurred with Aman and Snaveling.

Oh, don't you go poking your nose where it doesn't belong, she thought, turning her mind to what might be going on at home. Quite frankly, she did not wish to return overmuch, and people were talking of more rain -- that would make a fine reason to stay another night! She nodded in satisfaction to herself when she thought she heard someone calling her name.

She craned her neck and looked around, and then a voice came in her ear: "Caity! There you are!"

She jumped and turned, then tried her best not to groan. "Tommy, what are you doing here?"

"Mother sent me to come get you," her younger brother said, sing-song. "She told me to tell you that you've been wasting your time at the Inn long enough and you have to come back home. Or else," he added, an afterthought.

"I'm not going now," she responded, gesturing at her dinner. Tommy picked a tater off her plate and popped it into his mouth. "Hey!" she protested, drawing looks from some of the others in the room. Suddenly she felt like a very selfish person... but still... she didn't want to go.

Sighing, she said, "I take it you're not to leave without me." The lad nodded; so did she. "Then have a seat. I'll buy you some dinner."

[Fairleaf]

‘Ma! Ma!’ cried Reggie running pell mell between tables, his sister following after.

Wilfrid reached out from his chair and scooped the boy up, setting him firmly on his knee. ‘Now what’s all this that you’re yelling for your Ma and running like a wild man through the Inn?’ Daisy had sidled up to her mother, nestling in against her. ‘And what’s this?’ said Mari, putting her arm about her daughter’s shoulders. ‘I can see those big eyes of yours, Daisy, just wanting to put a question to me.’ She laughed, a pretty sound in the loudness of the Inn. ‘And I can just tell you’re hoping the answer is yes.’

Reggie tried to talk, but his words and thoughts were all jumbled up. So it was Daisy who pointed out where Miz Bella was sitting and told her Ma all about the lessons she was offering.

Mari looked worriedly at Wilfrid. ‘Sounds like a nice idea. But we really don’t know her, do we. And I’ve no idea where she lives.’ It was Reggie then who grinned and blurted out that Mz Bella was going to be right here at the Inn. ‘Oh please, please, please can . . . no, MAY we?’

Wilfrid nodded his head yes, saying that they’d have to wait for a final answer ‘til their Ma found out more about it.

‘Well, alright,’ grumbled Reggie, then brightened. ‘Though you know she gave us our first lesson to try out . . . so we shouldn’t take too long.’

The riddle was told and puzzled over by parent and child alike. ‘Beats me what it’s aiming at,’ Wilfrid said. ‘What do you think son?’

Reggie’s little face screwed up with concentrated thought. ‘Don’t know, Papa. But it must be something secret and magical.’ He leaned forward and whispered in Wilfrid’s ear. ‘You don’t suppose it’s dragons, do you?’

Wilfrid smiled at Mari. ‘Dragons? Well I don’t know about that. Best if we get you signed up with Miz Bella, Reggie. Then you can tell me.’

[Firefoot]

Thistle paused with a spoonful of chicken stew halfway to her mouth, then put the spoon back down. A curious look on her face, she turned to face the boy. The cane was nothing but a necessary nuisance, though sometimes helpful for emphasis, but even she did not have the heart to dampen the lad’s enthusiasm.

“We all resisted the ruffians in what ways we could, lad,” she said, her voice strangely soft. “They dragged my husband off to the lockholes, you see. He got sick there, never recovered.” Thistle wondered why she was telling him this. He was naught but a boy. “But yes, Masters Merry and Pippin were something else.” Could have used their help a lot sooner, though, she couldn’t help adding to herself.

“I’m sorry, Miz Bracegirdle,” said the lad. “About your husband and all.” Thistle was touched by his sincerity. It was probably the most sincere condolence she had ever received - behind her back, and once even to her face, Thistle knew they had said he was better off without her, even if it meant being dead.

“Don’t be,” she told him. “He was a brave sort, like I imagine you’d be, and he was getting old.”

The lad could not keep the comment from slipping out: “Like you, Miz Bracegirdle?” The shocked chides of “Willi!” from Ginger and the other, her sweetheart, no doubt, were in stark contrast to Thistle’s own reaction. She smiled for the first time in a long time, accenting the wrinkles of her aged face. “Yes, Willi, like me.” I like this one, decided Thistle. Too bad all the young’uns aren’t polite like him. He’s enthusiastic, but then that’s healthy in a lad, but not so rambunctious. Yes, I like this one.

[Noinkling]

‘Come, Cullen,’ called Benat as he stepped outside the stable’s doors. Cullen drew himself up from the straw in the empty stall and stretched, yawning widely. Several of the equine residents, looked over the side of the stall at him and nickered a bit, then turned away when they realized his presence did not mean that the breakfast bag of oats was near. With a snort at the dust from the hay, Cullen trotted toward the doors and took his place at Benat’s side.

Benat had spent his night on a pallet of soft, sweet smelling hay in the loft. The small window beneath the eaves had been left open and he woke up as soon as the first light of morning poked through it. He had lain for a short while propped on his right side as he stared out the window. There were a couple of things he wanted to accomplish this morning. He’d promised Derufin he would help finish the task of splitting the wood they’d sawn into workable rounds yesterday. And then Cook had promised him in return she would see to it that he got to see Master Samwise about Bilbo’s old book.

But first, something substantial to break his fast.

From the Inn’s kitchen came the savory scent of toasting bread and frying bacon. As he came closer he could pick out the potatoes and onions and the eggs. Cullen ran round about Benat’s legs and yipped at the savoury smells.

‘Ah!’ smiled Benat as he sat at one of the tables. ‘Tea, yes and a sweet roll or two to start out with,’ he told the sleepy eyed server who’d come up to take his order. ‘And if it’s all ready, a plate full of everything I can smell cooking behind those doors. No bacon though, if you please.'

Cullen leaned against his master’s knees and whined just a bit. ‘And a plate for my companion here. But no onions . . . they make his presence quite unbearable.’

Across the room, just coming down the stairs, Benat spied the man who’d come to listen to his story last night. He nodded at him, catching his attention, and pointed to an empty chair. ‘You’re welcome to join us,’ he mouthed to Anyopâ.

[Witch_Queen]

Jon looked out of the window in his room. The sun was already coming up and he was now wide awake. He didn't get any sleep last night for he was tossing and turning, constantly having nightmares about his childhood. Jon walked over to pack sitting in the corner. He knew he had some different clothes for the ones he was wearing was in dire need of a cleaning. After changing Jon decided to place his dreams in the back of his mind and try to forget even having them. Jon walked to the common room only to see that Dwaline had yet to return. "Hmmmmmmmmm!" Jon shrugged his shoulders and walked to the door of the inn. He decided that his horse needed to be checked. The horse had come along way from Rohan to the Shire. Many times he had thought that taking his brother's horse wasn't a good idea.

He walked to the stables only to see that his horse was doing good. Laying beside the animal was its breakfast. "Eat up my friend, I don't know how long we'll be here. After all, I'm here to talk with Aman." With the mentioning of her name the horse nudged Jon's shoulder. "Yes I know you remember her." Jon turned to go back towards the inn only to see a bird perched on one of the many beams supporting the roof of the building.

The bird looked familar to Jon but for some reason it was as if Jon knew that deep down inside he had a connection with Avalon and now was the time to find out. "Good morning Avalon." Jon's voice had no sound of excitement or merriment. He was tired of having no sleep and Avalon had something to do with that. Jon stared into the bird's eyes only to see nothing. "I guess I was hoping that if I saw you some of my problems and questions will be solved. But I was wrong. Perhaps some day I will understand why you have haunted my dreams and made my father think me mad." Jon knew he was rambling on and on. "But of course you know what I'm talking about. Yet what does it matter what I people think."

Jon was tired of the one sided conversation. He left the stables and went back to the inn for a mug of something. He didn't care as long as it woke him up.

[Envinyatar]

‘Oh, I know what this is!’ Zimzi turned the piece roundabout in her fingers, admiring the workmanship. ‘Tis Anadûnê, Starwards!’ She placed the pin on the folds of the dark blue cloak, a small isle on a great sea. ‘Many the stories has my mother told us of the gift now gone. And this . . . this is a quite lovely rendering of it.’ She turned to Derufin, giving his arm a small squeeze. ‘I wish I could show him the little pieces of jewelry my father and brothers make.’ She took the clasp from her hair that her father had made for her. Mother of pearl in swirling greens and blues like the sea near her home, cradled in fine silver. ‘They work some in gems, but mostly in pearls and such as this,’ she said, turning back to Anyopâ and handing him the hairclasp.

‘Look!’ whispered Derufin near her ear, drawing her attention to Gil and his companions. He brushed the thick fall of her hair to one side and kissed her lightly on the lobe. ‘Perhaps there will be a song we can dance to,’ he said, leaning back in his chair with a smile.

‘Well, perhaps so,’ she teased, ‘but only if I haven’t gotten a better offer! And Aman allows us to clear a dance floor, of course.’ She glanced over at the Innkeeper and the man and Elf near her, wondering as she did so, at the air of tenseness that seemed to hover about them. Zimzi nodded toward them with her chin. ‘What’s going on over there, do you think?’ she asked Derufin in a quiet voice. ‘The man looks as if he’s seen a ghost. And even the Elf seems out of sorts.’

[Noinkling]

Even Cullen’s great tail moved in time to the music of the four Hobbits, and he pawed the floor at times as if he were itching himself to be dancing. Benat clapped loudly during the chorus and raised his mug high at the ending as he beat the palm of his hand on the table top.

‘Grand music!’ he called out in his booming voice. None of the other Inns he’d stayed in had had any singing and playing, and he thought it a lovely addition to an already fine day.

‘I’ll stand you four a round,’ he called out again. Gil raised his cap to the beaming giant of a man and sent one of the servers to collect his coin.

[peral]

Sharya re-entered the Common Room. The cook had told her that she would be able to get a meal now. A meal made with her own hands. She allowed herself a wry smile at this thought. How long had it been since she had worked in a kitchen and been allowed to eat the fruits of her labours? She sat down and Ruby immediately brought her food to her. Thanking Ruby she dug in and realised how long it had been since lunch.

The chicken looked delicious. She usually steered clear of any sort of chicken for she hated the taste, but the chicken could have tempted the palate of even the most choosy person. She ventured a taste and instead of screwing up her face, she took another bite. Surprisingly good. It didn't taste a bit like any other chicken she had tasted before. The carrots which had been cut by the little girl Camille had cooked extremely well. However much she ate, she didn't seem to feel bloated. Ah wonder of wonders, a meal which one could eat much of and still not feel as if one would burst. Then came the mushroom pie. She tentatively took a slice and examined it from all directions. It was true she hated mushroom but that was what she had said about the chicken. With this thought in mind, she tentatively took a nibble. Oh glory of glories. It was true. Everything hobbits cooked seemed to immediately transport her into paradise. She took another slice and hoping no one would notice and think her greedy quickly downed it.

The vegetables were still sitting on the side of her plate. They had been overlooked in her rampage of all the savoury stuffs but finally Sharya had noticed them. Peas, oh glorious peas. Surely if all the rest of the food tasted good, this must too. One bite confirmed everything. She would live the rest of her life in this land of halflings. Without money, the thought came back again and she quickly brushed any hope of living in this country where food was the sole reason for living.

Musical beings they were too, for the hobbits standing by the fireplace unexpectedly struck up a tune. It was a happy tune, and she remembered that here was a place which rarely experienced hardship or evil. Here was a place envied by all others for its ability to remain so quiet and peaceful. It was such a change from what Gondor used to be. When the song ended and the applause began, Sharya felt somewhat disappointed. The song reminded her of her childhood when her brothers and her used to perform before her parents. Unskilled and - when she looked back upon it - silly performances, yet they had brought her parents so much joy. She held back tears. It was silly, always breaking out to bawl when the smallest thought of her past came up.

Luckily the dessert came soon enough and distracted her. Several slices of spice cake covered with a thick vanilla frosting. Sharya immediately bit into the cake. Raisins, she thought to herself, oh glorious raisins! And these were no ordinary small, shrivelled up ones, these were nice plump raisins with substance. And the frosting, how to describe it? Rich, creamy, frothy and all other words that she could dig up would not describe the tenth of the delicious melt-worthiness of that frosting. Without another thought, she was happy just to lick the frosting off like a young child and laugh when it got onto her face. When all the cake was gone, and the crumbs from off the plate, she leant back in her chair. Happy, content and without a care in the world.