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Shut in the inn all night long, the moth that had followed Jinniver into the room had settled on her pillow. Starting to wake, she turned her head and dislodged the creature, which fell onto her shoulder. Opening her eyes, she saw the moth and gently scooped it into the palm of her hand, closing her fingers around it. She stumbled out of bed and opening the window, released the moth, who dozily fluttered around outside for a moment.
Jinniver rubbed her face and absent-mindedly started to dress. She had a slight headache and felt confused, remembering the dream she had woken from. There had been a wide open land, uncultivated, and she was alone in it, shivering. She had tried to shout for her father but the words had stuck in her throat. Suddenly she had felt much warmer, and realised that a pair of strong hands were placing a beautiful soft cloak about her shoulders. The same cloak she had dreamt about the night before last, made of plush grey velvet with a red silk lining. Then she had woken to find the moth.
Jinniver pondered over her dream as she dressed, choosing yesterday’s green breeches but a clean lavender coloured tunic, with a fresh white scarf for a collar. She left yesterday’s stained one soaking in the basin of water on the dresser, and hurried down the stairs for breakfast, managing to stub her toe on the way out.
She was halfway through her plate of ham and eggs when she remembered she had not yet brushed and dressed her hair, and embarrassed, she gathered it all up and tied it into a rough knot at the back of her neck. She hoped it would hold, as she had left her belt, with it’s useful ball of string, up in her room. Jinniver exchanged a few words about the fine weather with one of the hobbits who served her up with a huge pot of hot tea, and started to plan out what she might profitably do with her day, once her headache had gone.
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