The Golden Perch Inn

[piosenniel]

Penny

Penny stood fidgeting, dancing a bit from foot to foot, as her aunt gave instruction to the stable-hand. A nice looking fellow, she thought. What with his honey colored curls and all. Smart, too. That is he took in Aunty’s instructions about the pony with a serious look on his face, no smirking, nodding his head as she ticked off the shaggy rascal’s little quirks and habits.

‘Now, mind you,’ she heard Iris say with a shake of her finger to emphasize the point. ‘Don’t go trying to brush him out before you feed him. I don’t want to hear that he’s nipped your arm ‘cause you wanted to do it your way!’

Seeing that Iris was about to begin instructing just how Velvet liked his oats done up, Penny excused herself with a quick smile at her aunt and a nod to the stabler. Picking up her own small satchel and Iris’ much larger carpet bag she made her way from the stable toward the Inn.

The dry, cold November wind chafed at her cheeks as she skirted round the building to the front entrance. Her feet hurried through the scattering of leaves along the way, making small crunching sounds as she passed.

A singular gust of wind gave some small assist as she pushed on the tight closed front door. A few leaves blew in with her entrance, skittering along the wooden floor before coming to rest beneath some old gaffer’s chair.

‘Sorry ‘bout that!’ she called out to the mostly empty room. Leaning her sturdy little body against the door, she shoved it shut tightly once again. ‘Didn’t mean to bring the chill in with me,’ she continued, coming to stand by the gaffer’s table. He was sitting near the fire enjoying a mug of something, something that smelled quite good . . . and warm, too. She could see the steam rising from the mug as he cupped it in his hands.