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. Her lips and cheeks glowed with the same
impossibly brilliant, unnatural shade of pomegranate as her long, wavy
hair. Perched upon it at a jaunty angle was a small, plumed purple and
yellow hat.
"At last, we're here," she sighed contentedly, looking around
the inn. Hands on her hips, she struck an imperi ous pose that made
her appear taller than she was. The inn fell silent. Even the pans in
the kitchen stopped rattling. "Woodrow, come in here!" she called as
an afterthought over her shoulder.
"Yes, ma'am," croaked a nervous voice. A young man stepped from
behind her, carefully squeezing around her bulk so as not to intrude
on her magnificence. His sunbleached hair looked like straw that had
been cut with a bowl around his head. His nose was hawkish and strong,
as was his tall, sinewy frame. He was dressed, oddly, in gray, quilted
cotton pants and a long-sleeved, padded shirt of a type commonly worn
as protection under chain mail. His pants, obviously past their prime,
weretorn at the seams and faded. The young man's wrists dangled more
than an inch below the cuffs.
"Do stop calling me ma'am," she chided him goodnaturedly. "You
make me feel so old. And let me assure you," she continued, giving him
a seductive wink, "I'm not that old yet!"
The young man named Woodrow blushed furiously.
"Yes, ma'am," he gulped.
She looked at him for a long moment and touched his cheek
briefly. "So young... but I like them young...." She looked away
abruptly and peered into the depths of the inn, spotting Otik behind
the bar in his apron
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