Over there lad! No, no no no!!!!
Her ruddy faced father grasped either side of his head, pulling his hair in exasperation as the very large keg was thankfully stopped from toppling off of it's stand by three burly men, ready to give their lives, to be flattened by the thing that dwarfed them. Moving these things was no small task, but once situated, the job was done and all stood back to look at their handiwork. The brewery warehouse was almost complete. Ales of all sorts ready to be sent off, hither and tither, ones to be tasted, others to be wasted on those who her pa believed wouldn't know a good ale if they swam in it. She, being his little Jaybird, still a child knee high to him in his mind, was relegated to dealing with the ledgers after she got a splinter. Admittedly it was a rather nasty one, but given the trials of previous days, she thought it best not to argue. Today though, she was late, and clients were due.
For the first time in several days, she had slept. Nothing could wake her. She was exhausted, emotionally and physically. Bailey had long given up with her affectionate headbutts during the night, the cat thinking it better to follow suit. She didn't dream. Normally bright, vivid dreams would entertain or trouble her, but this time, nothing. Perhaps it was the tea, though more likely her mind at last thankful to be resting. Several things had happened. She had broken a heart, she had adopted a business, she had supped with friends yet joy was lacking in such meals, she had gotten a splinter that made the fleshy pad of her palm sore even though it had been removed. Eventually she did wake though, to the thud, thud, thudding of a pounding fist to the front door. Dressing, her clothes and hair askew, she looked up at the eyes of Carter and suddenly cursed, then closed the door on the man, remembered her manners and opened it again. He spoke gruffly.
He's gonna kill you! Get your bloody cloak, let's go!
...and she did, grabbing a letter she had written on her way.
