The drying room behind the kitchen smelled faintly of crushed leaves.
Bundles of herbs hung from cords stretched between the beams. Some had dried through the night. Others still held their colour.
Ruan lowered one bundle and separated the stems. The driest leaves broke softly between his fingers. He gathered them into a shallow bowl and set the stems aside.
On the table beside him, several small cloth pouches already waited.
He ground the dried leaves slowly with the pestle and tipped the powder into another square of cloth.
Ruan tied the pouch and set it with the others.
From the yard, wood shifted.
He paused.
The sound came again.
He stepped to the doorway and looked toward the back of the inn.
Near the fence a traveller stood with one boot against the lower rail, pressing it back into place. Dust marked his sleeves. When he straightened, the edge of a hooked beak caught the light beneath his hood.
"…the fence," the traveller said. "I fixed it."
Ruan looked at him a moment.
"Thanks."
"It was loose," he said. "I noticed it yesterday."
"…didn't sit right."
The traveller stepped closer to the doorway and looked past him into the room.
"Do you have any?"
Ruan returned to the table and loosened another bundle.
Behind the garden rows, a cloaked figure sat near the low table with a bowl in his hands.
"That one yours?" the traveller asked.
Ruan glanced toward the garden.
"He stays."
The traveller watched the figure a moment.
His gaze moved from the garden rows to the fence.
"Been fixing everything."
A drop of water fell from the ceiling and struck the stone beside the kettle with a quiet tap.
Ruan reached for the handle, then stopped and looked up.
Another drop gathered along the beam.
One of the shingles above the doorway had lifted where the wind had worried it loose.
"The roof might need a hand."
He looked toward the garden.
"Moss."
Beyond the rows, the cloaked figure set down his bowl.
"Can you show him the ladder?"
He glanced once more toward the roof.
"Some shingles have lifted."
He passed the doorway without looking inside and continued along the side of the inn.
The traveller watched him go, then followed.
Ruan returned to the table in the drying room and loosened another bundle of herbs.
Outside, footsteps moved across the packed earth of the yard.
A narrow space opened between the wall and the garden fence. A wooden wash tub stood beneath the eaves, its rim darkened by years of water and soap. Lines stretched above it with two sheets folded over the rope to dry.
A ladder leaned against the wall beside the tub.
Moss lifted it as though he had placed it there himself.
He set the ladder beneath the edge of the roof and held it steady.
The traveller tested the first rung with his hand.
"Looks solid."
Moss climbed without answering.
The ladder creaked once as his weight shifted upward.
The traveller followed after him.
From the drying room doorway, Ruan could see only the movement of their boots before they disappeared above the roofline.
A moment later a loose shingle slid down and struck the ground beside the wash tub.
Ruan picked up the pestle again.
From the roof came the dull scrape of shifting wood.
Ruan continued grinding the herbs.
The kettle began to murmur beside the hearth. He set the pestle down, lifted the lid, and moved the pot farther from the flame.
Footsteps sounded on the stairs.
A traveller came down rubbing sleep from his eyes.
"Morning."
Ruan nodded and set a cup on the counter. Hot water followed.
The traveller took it with both hands and moved toward the window.
Above the ceiling, something thudded once, then again.
Dust drifted lightly from the beam.
Ruan wiped the counter and stepped toward the doorway.
Outside, a chicken had wandered up the steps and was pecking curiously at the threshold.
He nudged it gently back toward the yard with his foot.
The kettle began to hiss again.
He returned to the hearth and lifted it before it spilled over.
Behind him a chair scraped across the floor.
Another guest had come down from the corridor, boots in hand.
"Is the bath still warm?"
"Yes."
Ruan crossed the room and pushed another piece of wood into the hearth.
Above the rafters, the faint creak of the ladder shifted as weight moved along the roof.
Not long after, something slid down the shingles and dropped into the laundry yard.
Ruan paused only long enough to listen.
Then he returned to the table and lifted another bundle of herbs.
Outside the open door, the sheets on the line stirred slowly in the wind.
***
By late afternoon the sounds above the roof had grown quieter.
A final scrape crossed the shingles. Then the ladder creaked once as weight shifted downward.
Ruan set the last pouch of herbs beside the others and stepped to the doorway.
In the laundry yard Moss had already lowered the ladder and returned it against the wall. Broken shingles lay in a small stack beside the wash tub.
The traveller climbed down a moment later. Dust marked the front of his cloak where he had brushed against the roofline.
He stepped back and looked upward once, judging the work.
"It should hold."
Ruan nodded.
"Good."
Moss rinsed his hands in the wash tub. Water darkened the packed earth beneath his feet before running slowly toward the garden rows.
He returned to the beans without another word.
The traveller remained near the fence.
He tested the repaired rail with his hand, just as he had that morning.
The inn door stood open behind Ruan. Inside, a cup rested near the kettle.
***
Evening light had begun to settle along the road.
After a moment the traveller stepped toward the doorway.
"Do you keep anything stronger than tea?"
Ruan looked at him once.
"Sometimes."
The traveller glanced toward the road bend, then back to the inn.
"Mind the company?"
Ruan turned back to the counter and set another cup beside the first.
"No."
Outside, the wind moved softly through the beans in the garden.