[Elora]

Vanwe woke into the early light of the summer morn from a deep rest. Two nights on a mattrass was an unprecedented decadence for her. Silvanis had not spoken the night before, and she had left him with an undertaking that she still remembered as she blinked at the sky through the loft doors that she had kept open so as to see the night stars.

"Please, if I may ask this of you, do not leave before we have spoken," she had asked. The need in her voice she still recalled. "I know I have no right to ask anything of you, but there are things I must talk to you of." Still beneath a horse blanket, Vanwe rolled to where her pack lay in the loft. She had left Silvanis in the night, and after seeing to the horses, had made herself at home in the loft upon discovering what was up there.

Vanwe had expected her rest to be interrupted, either by the person for whom the loft had been made ready for or Silvanis. Neither had happened. Delicate pink shaded the sky, the faint silvery glimmer still visible to charm the senses as she turned back to gaze at the sky. The night had been warm enough to leave the bay doors open. Yet after a lifetime of southern summers, Vanwe had still needed one of the grey blankets she had found on the bed.

In the morning hush, she rolled from the bed and stretched. The timbers of the stable creaked around her, and the sound of horses below wafted up to greet her. On light feet, she padded to where she had draped her cloak and dress across the drawers and pulled the dress back on over her shift. She would leave the cloak there. Vanwe considered putting her pack in the drawers, and after a little uncertainty at such temerity soon had done so.

She barely filled a single draw. All she had to show was a comb, a cheap book of badly drawn maps, a length of braided leather, a battered water bottle and some odds and ends of wood, carvings at varying stages of completion, unlike the crane she had not put in the draw with her other scant belongings. She studied the crane one more time, noticed the way the wind seemed to ruffle wings outstretched in glorious, free flight, and tucked that behind her belt knife to give it to Derfuin later in thanks and gratitude.

After pulling on battered boots and combing her hair, she folded the horse blanket and scampered down the ladder from the loft. At the back of the stable was where Derufin kept the implements. She picked up a rake and shovel, dropped them into a wheelbarrow she found there also, and was soon busily raking out the stables. The straw had to be changed, water and feed seen to, before any guests came. It would not do to have them find their prized horses hungry and thirsty, and they could not eat in a dirty stall.

Vanwe worked with an effortless, unthinking grace, singing a distinctly Haradian song as she raked, shovelled, watered and fed. Her voice was soft, the song occassionally breaking as she greeted a horse or pony and then taking up again. Despite the uncertainty and isolation that marked her precarious life, as she sang Vanwe revealed a joy and lightness of spirit that was rarely to be seen in the presence of others.

It was good honest work. There had been a roof over her head the night before and plentiful food. She'd had a comfortable bed, and there had been no beating nor anything to shrink away from. There had been nothing to make herself feel small and hide, and so she sang as she worked in the stables, whilst the sun dawned upon a new day.

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OOC- Apologies to Snowdog. I moved us along a little and hope I have not confused you. I'll be happy to edit if you need me to.