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Fen Sheperdspurse
His heart thumped so loudly in his chest he thought for certain the Elves would hear him. Fen stood in the darkness of the room across the way from the secret meeting. He’d flattened his back against the wall just inside the door, closed his eyes, and stopped his ragged breathing as best he could. ‘1,2,3,4, . . .’ he said slowly. Fen counted slowly to twenty, then opened one eye at a time and took a deep breath. No one had come looking for the source of the shaken door handle.
He snaked his head around the doorframe – the door to the room across the hall was still shut; no one he could see was lingering in the hall. Pulling his raggedy cloak about him, Fen made himself as small as possible and slunk quickly down the hall. He kept to the shadows as he made his way through the Common Room and hurried out the door.
Someone, at the end of the lane, had tied his horse to a convenient tree, avoiding the few pennies it would cost to stable the steed at the Inn. Fen reached out his grubby hand and rubbed the horse’s nose, speaking quietly to the beast. ‘Come now, my friend. I have use of you for the night. I’ll have you back before your cheapskate owner ahs downed his last mug.’
Untying the horse quickly, he mounted, and gave him a few sharp kicks in the flanks, urging him away from the Inn. He was bound for his usual meeting place with the boss’ representative, or so he called himself . . . now what was that throat-clearing name again . . . ah yes, Gráthgrob . . .
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