❝Shae Burrower, failed author and city girl, from Lavender Lane, at your service.❞
⎯⎯⎯
The story contained within these pages is not about me.
You all know of whom I write. If not by word of mouth or by the speculation of the Chileez Times, then by...
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The platform at Arriza was small.
It was well into the night when we arrived. Light was given by two lanterns hanging from a twisted metal hook. There was no one waiting on the platform. As soon as the small group of passengers disembarked, they dispersed until there was only five left.
Lennon T. James swept his gaze over us. "There is an inn at the border of the town."
Note: Lennon T. James waits for no man or woman. He just walks.
He set off, leaving us to scramble. I felt for my pack, reassuring myself I'd left nothing behind. "Does everyone have everything?"
"Yes." Mitch walked next to me, her fingers hooked around the straps below her shoulders.
Nattaniel grunted an affirmative, walking behind us.
Wade Lyong, however, turned around to face me from where he walked behind Lennon T. James. " Alas, I do not. My favourite watch is not with me, as it's currently at the watchmaker's for repairs, and I am also missing my favourite jacket. It was being mended. Does this jacket suit me, Shae? You seem to be wearing a similar one."
His jacket was of fine make, and by the smile he wore, he knew it. "It's alright, Lyong. Mine has a train and, therefore, is infinitely better."
"Yours is yellow." Lyong turned around, dismissing our conversation as if I had been the one to say something ludicrous. As if I was the one who thought yellow an ugly colour.
The road beneath our feet was uneven. It was a dirt road with no lampposts to light the way. Light shone from behind glass windows. The houses had much space between them compared to the joined buildings lining most of Hanochk's streets.
It was quiet. There was no engine humming or horses plodding or people talking. There was only the soft thud of our boots hitting the street.
The inn was identifiable by its proximity to the stables. There was the occasional sound of a horse snorting or an animal shifting in the straw. The buildings also seemed to have come closer together, as if this was the main street and not on the outskirts of town.
Then again, Arriza was almost as old as Hanochk. Its structure was different from what it was supposed to be, and lopsided because of time. However, as Hanochk stretched and grew, Arriza shrunk in on itself and became smaller.
The door to the inn opened, light spilling out with laughter. We stepped inside, crowded in the doorway as the warmth from the fireplace embraced us.
"Lennon T. James!" The voice was the scent of baking muffins and honey in tea. "We wondered when we might see you next! And you brought friends!"
The woman came into sight, tall and sturdy. She wore an apron over stained trousers and had flour on her cheek. Greying brown hair, hazelnut eyes, bright smile; her presence was comforting.
