[Elora]

Vanwe hung back, Derufin painting a familiar picture as he did as best as he could to cope with the morning light. Her singing was silenced as he winced at the sunlight. She did not notice how tight her hands were around the haft of the rake she had been holding when he entered the stables. Nor did she realise just how quiet and still she had become. It was instinct. Men, she had learnt, could be dangerous at such times. Derfuin had not shown anything other than gentle kindness, but it was better to be cautious. That was why she kept with her that small length of the thong used too often across her back. It helped her to remember.

It wasn't until she sighted him moving back to the inn that she realised her hands were aching with the force of her tense grip. Vanwe took a breath again, and glanced at white knuckles. She should not forget, and she nearly had that morning. Her fingers shook a little as she unwound them from the rake. The horses had been taken out to the pen and their stalls were mucked out. She set the rake back where it was kept, new caution in her movements. Now was not the time to stumble and make a mistake like forgetting where the rake was supposed to be stowed.

Vanwe then took up the handles of the wheelbarrow and pushed it out to where she had noticed a compost heap. Soiled straw was valuable, she well knew, and she duly emptied the used straw out onto the heap, using the shovel to turn it over and areate the rich castings that would in turn be used to aid the garden. The barrow emptied, Vanwe pushed that back to be stored where it belonged too, with the shovel.

The stable was quiet now, and she stood in the doorway gazing at the inn. Her stomach let her know that it could smell breakfast inside, but wariness prevailed. It was always best to present a low profile. It was after a heavy night that she had found life more difficult and Vanwe was not about to sully the small oasis of peace she had found with an error in judgement.

Instead, she turned away from the inn and made for where the lumber was kept behind the stable. Vanwe eased back the oiled cover that kept it dry and whole and studied it for a moment. It would help her, she decided, if she knew what manner of things were held within the timber she presently observed. With that in mind, she folded to kneel beside the timber store and started to work her way through it.

Eyes closed and the warmth of the morning sun on her face, head and shoulders, Vanwe laid her hands gently and reverently on the timber, piece by piece. Her brow lost the faint furrow that had marked it, and she sighed as though she were speaking to the timber.

"Ah, a fine chair you would make," she would say. "Wonderful," sometimes she would exclaim softly or merely laugh quietly as though she heard something that pleased or amused her. "Mmmmmm, a door, or perhaps shingles... you do not know?"

That the timber would not answer her did not occur to Vanwe, for in a manner it did, through what she felt held within each length through her hands pressed against them. In time, she had explored the timber at length and her hands came to where the crane sat behind her belt. Vanwe opened her eyes and looked down to where it was cradled in the palms of her hand. It resonated it's shape, spoke of the freedom of the air and of soaring over plains and seas.

Perhaps, when Derufin was in a better frame of mind, she would give it to him then. For now, though, she would leave him in peace. The very idea of running afoul of a rare kind person was more distressing than any beating she had received from those she so despised. Vanwe studied the crane a little longer, nodded and tucked it back into her belt.

She scraped long blonde hair back behind her ears, hair that had always marked her strange and different, and wiped her face of the tension that had started to gather there once more. Some of the plants looked like they were in need of water, and she had spotted a pail in the stable. Sitting idle by the wood pile would not make things smoother should Derufin venture back outdoors.