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Lyra stared down at her bare, brown feet, watching the dust puff up in little clouds around her ankles as she trod along the path. Her clothes were already a dusty rust color, so it did not matter about the dirt. She wasn’t one to worry about such things, anyway.
Tall and boyish in figure, it wasn’t that Lyra wasn’t a pretty girl. Long black hair and heavy eyelashes softened her dark features, making her attractive in that simple way that is so appealing to those who cherish beauty. A firm jaw and appraising eye spoke of hidden strength, and they spoke truth. She simply didn’t care, and there was nothing more to be said.
Mid-morning always put Lyra in high spirits, and as she walked along, she began to hum softly. It was an effortless tune, a lullaby or some such song that she could vaguely recall hearing, and she improvised when the notes in her head ran out. The weather was fine, and all was well.
Lyra saw the sign, sticking up like beacon on the dusty road, welcoming weary travelers. The Green Dragon Inn. Lyra began to hum once more.
In time, she arrived at the doorstep of the inn. She stepped in without the least bit of hesitation, and blinked several times to adjust to the lesser lighting. What she saw pleased her. The inn was bright and clean, very different from the cheap taverns where she had been sleeping. The place seemed to be under construction, but it didn’t bother her – she could handle a little noise, certainly.
Lyra must have made a funny sight as she stood there in the doorway. She was dressed in cut-off boy’s trousers, with an odd, tight shirt that hung down calf-length in the back. It was black, very ragged, and she wore no shoes. She must have seemed foreign and half-wild, standing in front of the door with the sun turning her outline to gold. But as we have said, Lyra did not care.
A young woman was behind the counter, wiping them down with an air of maternal pride that gave a great deal of indication to who she was. Lyra stepped forward, her bare feet making a soft padding noise as she walked. The woman looked up.
Lyra raised her chin: her tone was oddly imperious. “I want something to eat,” she said.
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