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Jinniver was watering the plants in the border and checking them once again. She knew she was fussing but she also knew she had to make sure her work was perfect, that everything looked as she had wanted it to, and doing this made her happy. She whistled as she worked, and daydreamed about the garden she might create for herself some day. She had slept for an hour or two just before dawn and had dreamed of a long low cottage with lavender hedges, and a strange, walking tree.
She thought of the walking tree now and looked up. It puzzled her. She was sure she had seen something moving in the dead of the night when she was walking out. A tree, but not a tree. She peered up at the branches hanging overhead, a small frown on her brow. She felt sure there was something different about them, as though they had moved; it was unsettling but did not frighten her. When she was a child one of her father’s favourite tales had been of how the trees in the Old Forest were said to be alive, and he had told her of the man who lived there and was said to be able to tame the woodlands. Ever since, she had looked at trees as though they were somehow more than just plants, and now she wondered again.
Something did move, up there in the branches. It could almost have been an eye, or a mouth. She squinted to try and make it out but could not quite be sure of what she had seen. Shaking her head, she realised she had been staring at what must have been nothing more than a knot in the trunk. “You’re looking too hard. Now you’re seeing things” she told herself, and turned back to her watering can.
Finishing her work, Jinniver looked towards the inn where already many people were outside, hauling tables into place and setting down benches and chairs. There were more people than ever and for a moment she almost went red at the thought of having to talk to strangers. But then she remembered that she wasn’t a stranger any more, that she had been welcomed here, and felt happier and more comfortable. She couldn’t be sure, but she thought she had even seen some familiar faces from Bree.
As she went back towards the inn, her eye was caught by a cart laden with cut flowers, and she couldn’t resist going to look at them. There were tea roses, carnations, sweet-smelling pinks, huge dropping lilies and trailing stems of fragile sweet peas. Jinniver spent more than a few minutes just breathing in the scent of the flowers, lost in her senses, before she realised these must be meant for the table dressings, and she soon set to work again, her nimble fingers dressing and arranging the blooms.
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