Blast it. Mistress Imp has rapped my knuckles for the last time. I do my best...stay faithful to my task, yet when I just want a wee taste of the roast for dinner....nay, I'll not stand for it. Not from a cook that only comes up to my knees, leastways.
There are new faces in the village; some dwarves bringing a shipment of wares and sundries to the Emporium in the Square. Don't mind Dwarves, really. They're honest dealers and keep to themselves. These were talkative enough though; complaining that they had to haul three cases of Dorwinion wine over the misty mountains. Had to take extra care the bottles didn't break and the stuff doesn't do well in the cold, either. I imagine the young master up at the Mercer Hall could pay them well enough. His family have been selling goods and merchandise in Breeland since my Grand-Da was a small boy. Why he couldn't settle for some good, Breeland ale I'll not know though. Speaking of which, I wonder what Mistress Rose has cooking up at the Inn tonight? Never mind that lass's hair is redder than her cook-fires, she's a fine cook . Never rapped my knuckles, neither....though I'll not test it. There's no good of having all the cooks in town against me.
Round's finished for tonight; I'll head on up the hill. Maybe there'll be tansy cakes tonight?
