Careworn, older now, and gaunt from hunger, she limps through the door of the silent inn. She walks to the bar, tenderly wipes it down, polishes the glasses, dusts the bottles and jugs and slips to the floor beside the door to the kitchen. Sinking back into the corner between the wall and a wine cabinet, she silently watches and listens for any sounds of life within the inn.
Her breathing slows, her eyes droop and she slips into troubled slumber.
Her breathing slows, her eyes droop and she slips into troubled slumber.