The door to the hall creaked as a young bard, small and thin stepped inside. The hood of her ash-grey cloak was pulled down far over her eyes, and shadow hid her face from the few who turned to see who entered now, turning away to chuckle into their mead to see this little person who seemed to be traveling alone.
Ignoring them, she walked over to an empty table, exhausted. She had walked for days to get here, resting or eating for a few hours at a time, with long periods in between. The Road might be great and long, but it was by no means a place where she could drop her guard when travelling alone. Stretching her head to the side, she winced slightly as the muscles in her neck cramped up once again.
She placed her meager-looking pack-sack on the table before her carefully. Everything she had in the world was in there, including her little wodden harp, most precious of her possesions. She would not play tonight, most likely; Her throat felt cracked and dry, and her fingers were stiff and sore; the price she had paid for sleeping in a tree the night before.
The sack was open slightly; a silver rod, burnt at on end, rolled out. She caught it before it could roll on to the floor, and looked at it for a moment, as if recalling a fond memory. She placed it back in the sack, opening it up enough for the base of her harp to stick out. Carved in block letters on the bottom of the harp was "HINURA".
She swallowed, rembering her thirst, and signalled for a drink.
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