The journey into the North Downs had been going fairly well according to Cerriel. Sure, they fought a pack of wolves, a few orcs and were chased on horseback ( or on goat-back in her case), but adventure insured trouble.
What it did not predict that she would be cleaning a stable of goats at a dwarven outpost.
Morth and she had stumbled upon the outpost. The young Gondorian was left to explain their need and that they were not hostile. It was going horrible until she mentioned that she could give them coin for their aid. How it turned into cleaning stables, she could not say, but it did and she was stuck cleaning it.
She blamed Goat for a part of it. The dwarf had started to speak with her steed in their tongue and somehow gave him the idea. Goat just stared at her while he ate the given feed. Morth had left to find what memories he was starting to have... and to drink ale.
If she had sleeves, she would have rolled them up. With the pitchfork lying around, she started to work. It was going to be a long night and she hoped there was a place to take a bath nearby.
