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Heather
Heather Gorsebloom hovered at the edge of the dancing, enthralled. Bright lanterns cast a cheery glow against the clear summer night and illumined the face of the friendly inn. The carefree folk that reveled there whirled by in an intoxicating stream of color and motion. Heather hummed and swayed with the music, a dreamy smile on her lips. Its merry tune soothed away her weariness and tugged at her feet.
The Breelander half-danced, half walked across the yard. She twirled--nearly colliding with a hobbit dancer--and tripped, falling in a jumble of skirts and unruly brown curls onto a chair and its startled occupant. Heather found herself face to face with a blue-eyed youth not much older than she.
"Oh!" Heather scrambled off his lap onto the grass. "I'm sorry--I didn't see--I mean, I was..." She bit her lip and fell silent, wondering what to say.
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