Long have they know each other and their friendship was one of convenience, respect and necessity more than mutual admiration or love, at least that would be how Lyfrid would describe it. They had taken employment at the Inn due to Lyfrid's insistence. She was tired of the never ending roads, lack of a solid roof, scrounging for each silver and the Inn seemed as good a place as any to acquire what she wanted. Harugrim, very begrudgingly, agreed to stay as well.
This day, just a few weeks after the new Inn had opened, was like nearly every day since they began working at the Inn, the seer and her friend, argued once again. Before coming to Arrowhaven, they had traveled together but often Harugrim would go off and do whatever it was he did and Lyfrid would attempt to garner some coins by throwing runes for some farmer's wife or shopkeeper. Perhaps they argued more now because they spent hours together in the Inn.
Lyfrid knew Haru was unhappy at the Inn, not because the work was too hard or the owners were unfair, in fact, they were treated very well. It was more a matter of principle, at least she believed so. She suspected his unhappiness was more a matter of the forced commitment than the work itself. Harugrim never impressed the cook of the Inn as a person afraid of getting his hands blistered or shied from a sore back because of work.
As head cook of the Inn and having been paid well to prepare a feast in honor of some guest of the house on the hill, Lyfrid was going out of her way to made sure the food was perfection. She was snapping orders at Harugrim. He must have had his fill of her grousing and niggling because he looked at her her as if he heard another word he would surely strangle her to death. The Man ripped off his apron, flung it into a firepit then disappeared into the back of the Inn. Lyfrid heard the door to the cellar slam shut and Harugrim shouting something about "burning" and "witches".
Rolling her eyes at Harugrim's foul mood, never considering it might have been herself that was the source of his ill humor, the Cook hurried to the great hall because the party from the Order had arrived. Wulfthred, owner of the Inn, was there greeting the entourage. Food was being savored, drink was being enjoyed and all seemed merry until one of the guests noted the Inn was beginning to fill with smoke and it was not from the firepits. Huge clouds of smoke began billowing out of the fireplaces and the walls themselves looked like a gathering of hobbits with churchwarden pipes by the constant puffs of curly smoke coming from their corners.
Sir Wulfthred ordered everyone out, everyone to the door, but when the first guest got to the door, she declared with fright that the door would not budge open. Several of the males rushed the door but discovered there was no forcing it open. The Inn owner then shouted to Lyfrid to get buckets of water and douse everyone, which she did immediately but she forgot to include herself. As she ran back to fetch another bucket for herself, the smoke overcame and she fell to the floor in a dizzy spin.
Unable to move, Lyfrid lay there on the floor willing herself to get up and get out but her limbs felt as wispy as the smoke filling the room. The last things the woman from Rohan remembered was a woman's hand slipping out of her own and Harugrim's angry proclamation about witches before the blackness.
