[Pivli]

She paused at the top of the steps and leaned on her cane for a bit to catch her breath and rest her legs. ‘Not as spry as we once were, are we dears,’ she said flexing her creaky knees in anticipation of the short trek to the door.

Miz Violet Greengage brushed the dust from her dark green skirt and straightened the hem of her weskit. A familiar little whinny caused her to turn and she could see one of the stableboys leading her Nobby off toward the barn, her little green cart rolling along behind.

She walked to the large oaken door and putting her gnarled hand on it pushed it open. It was easier done than she thought it might be. ‘Kept in good order,’ she noted, nodding her head with approval.

Violet hadn’t been to the Inn in ages, it seemed. Though she lived not that far from it in a snug burrow up by The Pool. What with her children she’d raised, and their children and her garden and her few chickens and the goat, she’d kept herself busy enough paddling about in her own pond, as she’d say.

Now Mister Greengage, long since passed and buried in the small graveyard on the little hill that stood north of The Water, had enjoyed his weekly trips into Bywater to trade at the little market in the square, and had often spoken fondly of meeting with his friends in The Dragon, and a pint or two shared.

One of the ladies who lived near her had recently told Violet about the Faire that was to happen in a few weeks. There were to be booths of all sorts and she was planning on showing off her jams and jellies along with some of her neighbors. ‘And what about you, Miz Greengage?’ her neighbor had asked. ‘You going to show off your pretty quilts this year?’

Violet’s eyes were still sharp and she could still ply a needle with great skill. Her neighbor lady had gotten her to thinking about the many quilts she’d made that were stowed away in her great cedar chest. Perhaps she could show them off, she thought.

She made her way into the common room and looked about. ‘Now where was the Innkeeper,’ she said to herself. ‘And for that matter, who was the Innkeeper now.' One of the Big Folk she thought she'd heard from out east.

With her yew-wood cane tapping along on the wooden floor, she approached one of the tables. My, my it was one of the Fair Folk sitting there. Big as life and eating a proper Shire breakfast!

‘Pardon me for interrupting your meal,’ she said, standing near the Elf. ‘But have you seen the Innkeeper?’