As the witch recovered from her exploits, Eli's exploration drew him into former stable. Inside it was dark and musty as to be expected, the failures in the roof allowing light inside. The floor was constructed of packed dirt, covered recently in dry plant matter to make navigation more easy as there was no helping the holes in the roof and the mud they invited in.
The stalls numbered four, facing one another down a dark hallway littered with shards of late day light, though the ground here was largely muck and appeared untouched - Mel's boot prints did not appear here, nor were there any signs of human feet - despite taking up a majority of the building she appeared not to venture to this part of the building.
The hinges of the stall door must have only just been holding on by the fragilest of threads, screaming outward with a crack of failing, rotten wood and shearing iron before collapsing onto the floor and into the wooden wall behind it with a crash - inside patches of wooden planks shown through the dirt. The stalls were roomy and had once been quite comfortable for their occupants, few as they were, yet there were no signs that the scene had been disturbed. Empty save dirt and debris of the roof coming apart, there appeared to be little of interest.
From outside the doorway, the witch cleared her throat. She hadn't followed him down the hallway, lingering outside of it as though somehow a wild animal had wandered into her house and she were afraid to go near it. "Mister Monnrow." Her voice rang with disapproval, her shoulder leaning heavily into the wooden wall. Did everyone here just wander wherever they liked? Had they not heard of privacy? Boundaries? Personal property? "Would you like a drink?"
The stalls numbered four, facing one another down a dark hallway littered with shards of late day light, though the ground here was largely muck and appeared untouched - Mel's boot prints did not appear here, nor were there any signs of human feet - despite taking up a majority of the building she appeared not to venture to this part of the building.
The hinges of the stall door must have only just been holding on by the fragilest of threads, screaming outward with a crack of failing, rotten wood and shearing iron before collapsing onto the floor and into the wooden wall behind it with a crash - inside patches of wooden planks shown through the dirt. The stalls were roomy and had once been quite comfortable for their occupants, few as they were, yet there were no signs that the scene had been disturbed. Empty save dirt and debris of the roof coming apart, there appeared to be little of interest.
From outside the doorway, the witch cleared her throat. She hadn't followed him down the hallway, lingering outside of it as though somehow a wild animal had wandered into her house and she were afraid to go near it. "Mister Monnrow." Her voice rang with disapproval, her shoulder leaning heavily into the wooden wall. Did everyone here just wander wherever they liked? Had they not heard of privacy? Boundaries? Personal property? "Would you like a drink?"
