She rose before dawn, and crept from her room within the Prancing Pony inn. Down the hallway on careful, soft feet, not wishing to disturb any other guests. The common room was dimly lit, empty of patrons, though Barliman remained at his post, lazily wiping out mugs with an old rag. Her gaze met his for a brief moment, and she nodded in both greeting and farewell, opening the door to the street.
The lamps were still lit, though a wiry old man with a long pole was wearily and steadily snuffing them out, one by one, as dawn flushed the eastern sky. The streets were empty and quiet as she walked the shadows. Crickets still chirped sleepily, giving their last effort before going silent until the following evening. Somewhere in the distance, a rooster crowed.
She walked west because she liked going west. Somehow, it felt as if she could put distance between herself and the past if she did not go east. She also liked walking north. The rising sun was behind her, and the slowly growing pale-gold light made the rustic village look rather splendid. If only for a brief time.
She liked water. She often found herself standing beside a creek, or a lake, and losing herself in the gentle lapping of the rippling currents. She'd discovered a lovely pond on the other side of town the day before, surrounded by tall reeds and wildflowers. She planned to go back there again.
These were the reasons she gave herself for walking to the little stone bridge again, as the sun climbed over the eastern horizon. It wasn't because she hoped to encounter anyone. The stream was so pretty. The summer sunrise, so peaceful. She stood there for a while, but not for long. She didn't want to be seen, after all. At least, this is what she told herself.
When the voices of barely-awake tradesmen shouting their wares began to drift on the cool breeze blowing down from the west-gate, she turned away and strode back into Bree.
