The fiery-haired woman stopped just inside the door of the Prancing Pony inn, pausing to vigorously kick the crumbles of frost from her boots while standing on the mat. Bright eyes of perfectly swirled blue and green swept over the common room, noting its quiet air on this early winter morning. The hearth burned cheerily, and the portly, ruddy-faced figure of the innkeeper seemed bent over some thoughtful task behind the tall counter. He did not immediately notice her arrival.
"Barley!" she called out with a smile, and his head jerked up. She drew back the hood of her time-faded, well-worn cloak, and walked forward.
"Well, bless me," said the man with a good-natured grin. "If it ain't Miss Narys o' the north farms. Not seen you for a few months now, weren't it? What can I do you for, miss?"
The petite woman hoisted her elbows up to plop them on the bar, blowing a wisp of burnished copper hair away from her freckled nose. "Something hot! I don't care what. Time to thaw out these old bones for a few hours before I'm on my way again."
"Ah, yer a long way from "old" yet, lass," Butterbur chuckled, turning to step towards the kitchen. "Where you heading to now? Haven't you seen the world yet?"
Narys let out a bright, airy laugh. "Nay! It takes more than a few months to see all the world, Barley. I haven't seen anything yet but the big lake up north. Did you know there's a whole city up there? Ruined and empty now. But huge! Must be ten times the size of Bree. I didn't get a chance to explore there yet, but I will one day! Some folk say there're bandits and such living in the old buildings, but I didn't see a soul." She paused for a moment. "Well, I didn't see a soul in the ruins, I mean..."
The old innkeeper seemed not to catch the last bit of her words, for he was stopping abruptly and turning about with a hand raised. "Ah! I almost forgot! There's a parcel for you."
"For me?"
"Aye, Miss Narys, that's what I said," he chortled, bending down to reach under the counter.
The young woman's eyes went wide when he straightened up again, holding a long, narrow bundle of something that had been carefully wrapped. Arrows! she thought at once. And just as quickly, her mind snapped to a thought of Catesby. It had to be. Her first instinct was to immediately begin to assess and admire, and a hand floated out eagerly towards the bundle, ready to rip it open.
But Barliman rotated the parcel before setting it down, and tucked into the fastenings that held it all together, was an envelope. Her attention was successfully diverted, and she snatched it up, holding it in front of her nose.
"It won't read itself, Miss Narys," Barliman chuckled gently, before turning and heading into the store room, to give her privacy.
There was a moment of heady anticipation, savoring the suspense of not knowing what the letter might say. Her heart thumped pleasantly behind her ribs, and then she tore it open, hurriedly unfolding the note within.
The turquoise eyes were bright and wide-open as she read the letter. Her reading was not quick, nor easy, as she was not a particularly learned woman. Knowing letters at all had been a great accomplishment to her, and she did not despise the slow, arduous task of passing over each word several times while clutching the parchment close to her nose. Her lips tugged and twitched, smiling keenly at certain parts of the message, but looking more thoughtful at others. There was a tiny, concerned furrowing of her brows at one particular passage.
Afterwards, she lowered the letter slowly. Her thumb touched over the scrawled name at the bottom: Catesby.
Taking the precious bundle, she tucked the letter into her pocket, and carried it over to an empty table. There, she delicately unwrapped one end, just enough to admire the craftsmanship of the arrowheads, and the sleek shafts streaking out behind them. Then she unslung the pack from her shoulders, plopped it on the table, and took out her journal. One precious page was slowly, methodically torn out. Next, she took up the little pencil of sharpened charcoal from its attached sleeve on the back of the diary, and began her reply. The letters were laboriously etched onto the paper, and while they were legible and in tidy lines, they were not particularly neat nor pretty to look at.
"Dear Catesby,
I have gotten the arrows that you left for me. Thank you! I did not expect them since you had already made me some back in autumn. But you did say you would make more, and I should have trusted that you would.
I'm surprised that you have missed seeing me. Do you often miss looking at dirty, freckled people, covered in mud?
(That is a joke, if you couldn't tell.)
I don't know this person that you mentioned. But I hope you'll tell me about them when we meet again.
Speaking of that, I would be most honored to accept your invitation! I will leave a message here with Barliman for you, and I will stay nearby for a little while, until we're able to meet.
I am so terribly sorry that I missed your other letter. I feel wounded inside just to think that I did. Forgive me for that.
You will have to remind me what I said that you found so interesting. I say many things and they sometimes just fly out of me without much thought. They are always honest, but a bit like birds or leaves on the wind. Here and gone!
I hope you are well and have been since I last saw you. I am looking forward to seeing you again.
You, and your hat.
You can thank me for my jokes later.
Yours,
Narys
P.S. I just remembered that it is Yuletide. And I did not get you a gift. I hope you will forgive me for that, too."
