I do not wish to be here...
The human woman closed her eyes for a moment, a laugh in her thoughts for a wry moment as she considered the situation. This was a hobbit's town, a hobbit's realm, and hardly meant for people of her stature, at least, in a physical sense of being.
They generally call me short, she thought. The ironic amusement hardly took a moment to sink in before she laughed a moment, a short and abrupt cutting expression. It wasn't as if being tall compared to the locals wasn't a welcomed thought for Ariane Calthye. In fact, it amused her greatly, for once in her life able to see over the tops of people's heads, to see people as the taller ones seen her. To be five one amidst people who ranged up to six seven (the latter encompassing her husband's existance) was never an easy thing.
Here, the locals were, what, three and a half feet? They were children, she thought. Children compared to her.
She opened her eyes. Only a moment had passed over the quick thoughts, the second vanishing as she let her dark eyes snap open and scan the crowd. Of course it would be an inn. Drinking, let's all be merry and get drunk! I can hardly take a glass without falling over...
Fortunately places that offer room and board also offer non-alcoholic beverages. I hardly wish to pass out already. Short is one thing, but I'd likely as not be dragged off on some quest by a deranged wizard, or something of the like. As much as she liked the Shire for the height ease, she was uneasy. Born in Eriador, it wasn't as if Hobbits were a foreign idea to the woman. She had seen them in Bree on occasion.
You've spent far too long in Gondor, her mind murmured before she shushed it with an inner glare towards the voice with the will to speak up on its own.
It doesn't matter where I was before. I'm here now. Here is all fine, even if I don't have a great desire to be here.
Here? Oh, certainly. Here. Here with the wooden walls and wooden tables, the short and tall folk mixed together in a friendly inn's atmosphere. Here where she could close her eyes for a moment and smell not only alcohol as most inns seemed to offer, but food, mirth, and vague body sweat and grime. Here.
At least here no one was going to try cut her down. Here, the worse she thought she might get was a bit tipsy from too much ale in the air or stepped on by one of the taller being inhabiting the inn at the same time as the halflings. Ariane didn't feel like sitting just yet, so she remained off to the side, standing with a loose expression as she examined the scene with a more intensive look, her left hand's fingers twisted tightly in the brown fabric of her robe.
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