*This story of accidentally published on my daughter's account, so I'm republishing it here for those who would like to read it possibly for the first time.

Maris Kettering didn't care if the light up ahead on the trail was a nice, warm cottage or a rundown, seedy tavern; they were stopping to get out of this godforsaken rain. She'd been soaked for more than an hour and would kill just about anyone for a set of dry clothes and a hot, steamy bath.

Twenty more minutes of trudging through the rain granted them their reprieve at what looked to be a very nice inn. The door was open and inside lively music flowed out into the night. "Come in out of the wet if you like," came a sing-song voice that belonged to a short, barrel-chested man with a mop of blond hair.

"We appreciate your hospitality."

"That's what we're here for," the man smiled. "Name's Stu Jackson, and this here's my wife Effie."

Maris looked around the inn, her body and mind on alert. After a quick perusal she sighed and approached the reception area. "I'm in need of three rooms if you have them available."

"That we do," Effie smiled brightly. She was a plump woman, dressed in a pretty, homemade dress with an apron over the front. Her hair was pulled up in a bun, but wisps of red curls clung to her face and neck. "Ever since the King's decree, we don't get many visitors. It's nice to have someone to look after."

"How'd you manage to end up on the King's Road at such an hour?"

"Official business," Maris said, "Unfortunately I can't divulge exactly what our mission is, but I can pay you handsomely for allowing us the use of your inn for a night or two."

"We'll charge our regular rate. No one on official business for the king is going to get scalped simply because they can afford to pay."

"We appreciate that ma'am." Maris grinned at Speck. He was massive, despite the insinuation of his name. At six foot-seven inches, he towered over everyone else in their small group. Maris was also tall, for a woman. She stood an easy five-ten and attributed her height to the long bones in her legs and an evenly matched torso.

Maris paid for the three rooms, handing keys to Speck and Drake, who'd be sharing a room with his partner, Reo. "Get clean, get dry and then sleep. We'll wait out this rain, but we'll leave as soon as we see the sun again."

"Yes, ma'am," Speck said, grinning as he met her gaze.

She waited until they entered their rooms, before turning to her own. The click of the lock had never sounded so good, and she sighed as she toed off her boots and felt her feet sink into the plush carpet just past the entryway. Done in butter yellow, the carpet offered a reprieve to her sore feet. But it was the pull of a light from the bathroom that tugged at Maris. She wasted no time stripping off her soaked clothes and all but whimpering when she saw the huge clawfoot tub filled to the brim with steaming water. They'd even put those little flower bombs to fragrance the water. She sank down into the water, not a care in the world that water splashed over the sides in waves. Every muscle in her body lengthened, sighed and relaxed as the heat penetrated all her aches and pains.

Privacy, glorious privacy!

Don't get her wrong: Maris adored her adventuring party, and travelling with them was a hoot, but trudging around and sleeping in the mud with two grown men certainly made it an ordeal when it came to bathing. Any longer than ten minutes, and the boys would come mocking her, or barge down to whatever freshwater they had found themselves, wanting their baths as soon as possible. Any less, and Maris felt incredibly grimy. More often than not, it was the latter.

The soap provided was cashmere-soft and foamy, smelling like milk and honey and leaving her skin fantastically clean and soft feeling. She ran water through her hair until the water went brown, and then again, and again, until she could run her chipped nails through it and not encounter a single snag or tangle. The warmth worked at the knots in her back, the cramps in her legs, the pain in her hands from holding her blade so tight over the treacherous journey. She wrapped herself in a silk-soft towel and let the soft carpet envelop her, dressing into the nightclothes she had bought a village back: she had been saving them for a special occasion, for her next night of reprieve, in Jarraheim, a town famed for their textiles. Oh, and how right they were! The soft cotton fabric held her body like goose-down, warming her and looking fantastic while they were at it.

She reached the bed and reclined back on the sprawling, luxurious sheets, sinking down into a slumber deeper than she could ever remember having. Her eyes closed against the backdrop of the intricate ceiling painted on the ceiling, a deep celestial blue veined in stars and constellation lines in a shimmering gold that seemed to move in the dark of the room. Maris wondered if Speck pr Drake and Reo had rooms as luscious as this. She awoke in a stupor, orange light streaming through a slit in the gauzy curtains, and, as if pulled by an invisible thread, moved to the door, driven by a primal hunger within her. Subsiding on dried salt-porkand foraged herbs was all well and good when one had nothing but the immediate problem of surival on their mind, but when presented witht he spoils of a good night's rest, the body sets aside some glorious time for bodily hunger.

Maris fumbled in the dark at the space where the door should've been.

She found no handle.