Bethberry had been drawn out of her revery by the tread of light feet upon the long pine planks of the Horse's flooring. And what to her surprise did she see but a young woman, travel-weary but most sensible, asking for warmth of room and food. Her large cloak was muddied and spoke of many days of travel. I wonder what brings her here, thought Bethberry to herself.
"Welcome, stranger. I am the Innkeeper, Bethberry, so you've made your request to the right person. I can indeed offer you a cosy room with bath and a feather bed if you want more than a straw mattress and a dinner that will warm you where the water won't reach. I've just seen to the rooms and know we have logs prepared; a fire can be lit at a time of your choosing, now or after you have eaten."
"I'll eat first, if I may," the woman replied, without giving her name.
"As you wish," replied the older woman, somewhat intrigued that the younger had withheld her name. "Do you have any particular preferences or shall I simply ask the cook to prepare a tray of hot ragout and steaming vegetables, with hearty tart to finish it off?"
"That will do. And do you have hot cider?"
"Now, would we be a respectable Inn if we didn't?" retorted Bethberry, but with a gleem in her eye.
"Somehow I doubted The White Horse would have a limited choice of beverage or food."
"Did you now? And how pray tell do you know of the Horse?"
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