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	[u]Weather[/u]: One experiences a cool morning under clear skies. While the ambient temperature has increased a little bit, the wind still bites with a promise of weather to come. The distinction between the two is becoming more apparent at the morning progresses.

	[u]Time[/u]: Still early. It is morning, approximately a half hour from the last time we checked in.     

	[u]Ambience[/u]: One's breath can be seen in smallish wisps in the cold morning air. This has lessened little by little as the growing (relative) warmth of the sun, marking it as an event soon to expire. The clouds in the distance seem to have approached a little bit in the last half hour, an expected thing considering the prevailing direction of the wind. The vineyard and moors about it are grand and bright, demonstrating the industry of agriculture for which Avonshire is known.  

	Movement around the Estate House and immediate rows of vines has become more noticeable, as additional employees of the vineyard have emerged to start their day. The ripples of wind across vegetation serve to better illustrate the ocean-like appearance of rolling hills which appear as silent, standing waves dotted with dwellings, gazebos, and stables making a metaphorical mimicry of ships in the near and far distance. A main footpath paved with grey flagstones and a vital, lifegiving river cut through this near idyllic scene, the latter seeing more use than the former as persons both Human and Halfling gather water, cast their fishing lines in, or walk along its banks - though not in great numbers. Almost as a portion of the day's distant ambience, one can barely make out one of the fishing folk utter, [sub][color=darkgray][i]"G'mornin'! Nice day for fishin', ain't it? Huah huh!"[/i][/color][/sub]

	The Taproom remained mostly as it was from prior, except that one could make out an occasional shuffling footstep from the floor above, likely from the man going about his business straightening things up, sweeping floors, and changing out bed linen. He kept as quiet as he might be except for what was necessary to do a proper job tidying up. Smells of rising dough compete with the glory of steam rising from freshly baked bread and savory notes of quickly sauteed bits of meat. 
	

[center][color=darkgray][h2]*****[/h2][/color][/center]

	The Estate House blocked the worst of the wind gusts from fluttering cloak, cape, and shawl. Coupled with the braziers (even the one set up as a tableside cooking station), the overall temperature was bearable, even for a late fall/early winter morning. The farther away one might travel from the set tables, the less influence either had on one's comfort; at the distance of the terrace's edge overlooking the river it was effectively nonexistent, the prevailing conditions of the weather reasserting hold fully. Lizbeth didn't seem to mind, her heart full of unvoiced joy at their guests and the novelty of outdoor breakfast with a few of her favorites being delivered. Cecily chose to keep nearer to the warmth, as her own levels of excitement were quite depleted by the events of Harvestide. While she did not wish to move too far away from the braziers, she put a little extra volume to her voice to respond to Victoria's questions. [color=darkgray][i]"Yes. Yes there is one in Southmoor, Madame Annick Floquet, but..."[/i][/color] There was a sharp quality to her voice, as if sudden reluctance to elaborate had to be pushed through. [color=darkgray][i]"A lady who was a midwife, before the last war. She got conscripted as an army medician. She came back a different person, as what happens in war sometimes, I hear. I knew her when I was but a girl. She lives just outside of Southmoor, near to a large copse of trees. Madame Floquet, hmm... She does not generally give of herself unless you have something she wants in trade, save for her oath to act as Apothecary and Healer. I hope this helps."[/i][/color]

	The next question as posed to Cecily was actually answered by Lizbeth. Her general manner was still upbeat, even if her words issued forth in more of a monotone. [color=darkgray]"We lost my mommy and daddy when I was younger. It was a wasting disease of some kind. I had it, too, but I lived. Aunt CeeCee came here to live with us and take care of me, after that. But then Uncle Hugo passed..."[/color] She looked at Cecily like she had crossed a line of some kind, her lightly shocked voice issuing an apology. [color=darkgray]"Oh, I'm sorry! I... That wasn't my place to say."[/color]

	[color=darkgray][i]"It's all right. It will always hurt a little, and I have to get used to it."[/i][/color] Turning to Victoria, she continued the thought as Lizbeth had left it, [color=darkgray][i]"It was a rough few years there, to be certain. Especially for Arnaud, my father-in-law and Lizbeth's grandfather. He kept almost fully to himself, after lost both of his sons. I was going to give him another grandchild, but... but it didn't come to term. Suddenly, too. Arnaud even seemed angry about it. He was so looking forward to the birth. And then he withdrew from everyone again. Leaving the house for days at a time sometimes. Most of the time, we didn't know where he went. Sometimes, we would find him coming back home from the Coach House. Or he would lock himself in his study."[/i][/color] Cecily shook her head and changed the course of the subject just a bit, [color=darkgray][i]"This makes Lizbeth the last remaining birthright L'Rose! When she comes of age in a little over a year, all of this becomes hers, short of a Will showing up to say otherwise."[/i][/color] She forced a smile, [color=darkgray][i]"When she takes over, I do hope my dear Lizbeth will want her poor aunt to stick around. It is lovely country, and I doubt I shall find a moneyed suitor now that I am approaching my middle years."[/i][/color] There was yet a sense of joviality in her voice, even though it showed some strain. 

	Lizbeth gave a sympathetic look to her elder and appeared to wish to address the last point made, but was swiftly cut off by the arrival of three scullery workers, two pushing carts adorned with white cloths and silvery cloaches, and one carrying a basket of tools and small bowls with prepared ingredients therein. A bountiful but relatively simply prepared feast was set out upon the table, which was listed out by Cecily as it hit the table. [color=darkgray][i]"Coffee, if you've never had it, tea, fresh milk, or wine dilute to drink. Mille feuille pastry with walnuts and honey, croissants and hot pepper jam, sorghum cakes, fruit preserves, a whole basket of boiled eggs (for some reason) with thick, tangy aioli, red wine jelly, fresh country butter, baked apples and blush pears, heavy crust bread, and shredded, fried potatoes. If you wish, the gentleman to the right will be happy to prepare a scratch omelette on the spot for any or all of you. This is a token of my appreciation and an official welcome to the Rose River Vineyard. Please enjoy yourselves."[/i][/color] 

	With nothing left for two of the scullery folk to set out, they gave a curt bow and backed away from the table for three steps before turning their backs and returning to the kitchen. Those particularly astute in their observation may notice that the demeanor of professionalism drops as soon as they get more than a few meters away from the breakfast, showing an eagerness to get back inside paired with the occasional glance to one another, as if counting down the seconds until they may gossip about something in earnest. Likewise for those arriving from the front, stout armed men can be seen headed toward the stables, murmuring among themselves about, [color=darkgray]"More footprints found. No shoes this time. Who in their right mind goes about barefoot this time of the year?"[/color] They clam up once the realize new people are nearby, offering neighborly smiles and many a tip of the hat.