[Envinyatar]

The night was quiet as he walked toward the stables. An occasional nighthawk’s cry could be heard against the dark sky, and the pattering of small feet through the grasses near the garden as some small animal helped itself to the Inn’s bounty. Derufin reached the stable doors and stepped into a soft puddle of muted gold . . . the light from the small lamp, turned low, hanging just inside the entryway that Merrimac had left for him.

‘No need for this, now,’ he thought turning the wick down and blowing gently across the glass chimney. The moon had risen, waxing halfway to full, and shown in through the open skylight above. It was enough light for him to find his way back to his old room. And, indeed, were it dark as pitch, he could have walked the way through the stables without stumbling . . . so familiar was the place to him.

To his right, set along the long wall were the work areas – tools, shoes, nails, leather, medicines; all manner of things to make the stay of the horses and ponies a good one as they waited for their masters. To his left were the stalls, only half-filled this evening, most of the patrons at the Inn being locals. Horses moved in their stalls as he passed; he called out in a low voice to them, calming words of reassurance. Young Merrimac, the stable-boy, was already asleep in the right hand room at the back of the stable. He turned, sighing in his sleep, lost in some dream.

Derufin turned left into his rooms. Ruby had obviously come out and tidied them up for him while he was in the Inn. There were fresh linens on the bed and a small post of flowers from the garden on the table where the lamp stood. Towels were on the dresser top, as were a clean cup and a small ewer of water. He sat wearily on the bed – it had been a long day of travel. Stripped down to his small clothes he tucked himself beneath the covers, relishing the feel and smell of fresh sheets. Light scents of lavender clung to them from the lavender sprigs hung in the linens’ closet each week.

His window, to the left of the bed was opened, and he could just hear the far away croaks of the frogs at The Pool. One arm tucked beneath his head, he lay staring into the darkness. ‘Only a week,’ he smiled, ‘and I will have my dear heart here beside me . . .’