Mrs. Hench was an old hag. She was all points, from her chin and high cheek bones to her knees and elbows. She was dressed in dark grey, as usual, and was seated in a high backed chair in front of a large desk. There was no chair in front of the desk, meaning that anyone who came in would have to stand. Nothing about the drab, musty room was any more welcoming then Mrs. Hench herself.

The large oak door swung open and a young lady entered. She was about three steps inside before she realized that she wasn't seeing what she'd expected to.

Mrs. Hench looked over the surprised arrival in distaste. The girl was bare foot, and her cheep calico skirts were patched and fraying. Her skin, though dusty, was a beautiful shade of sun glazed bronze, and her hair was a deep black which cascaded over her shoulders. Most of it was tied into a thick braid at her back, but a few unruly strands framed her face. Her shirt was a mass of bright colors, yellow mostly. Her features were blunter and more round then those of these Northern people. She wasn't so much pretty as distinctive. Apparently, Mrs. Hench did not approve of distinctive.

"Well, what do you want?" The older woman's voice cracked like a whip, shredding her confusion.

"Oh, I'm very sorry to bother you! I was looking for Mrs. Hench, you see. She runs this shop and I've worked here for a week every winter when I'm in town. Could you tell her I'm here, please?" She spoke with an accent, not anything definite, just something that suggested that Common was not her first language.

"Name?"

"I was only going to speak with Mrs. Hen-"

"iName?/i"

"Zananka" She sounded a little taken aback at the force of the request.

The shuffling of papers as Mrs. Hench looked for something in the drawers of the desk didn't quite fill the stiff silence.

"Ah, yes. Here you are. Indeed. Well, I have a job, though it's not what you were doing before." She replaced the paper decisively.

Zananka had had quite enough of this arrogance. "I'd like to speak with Mrs. Hench now." She stated firmly.

She was treated to a withering stare.

"You are. I am Mrs. Hench. However, I also know who you're speaking of. The Mrs. Hench you know was my husbands mother. She died four months ago. I run this shop now." The new Mrs. Hench pressed her thin finger tips together.

"Oh. I'm so sorry!" Zananka replied. "She was so kind..."

"Yes, yes." She brushed off Zananka's condolences. "Now, I have an opening for a month. Do you want it or not?"

"I won't be here that long! I'm only staying the week!" Zananka protested.

"Then you have no job. If you really needed it, you'd stay. Good day, not that you deserve one."

Zananka opened her mouth to answer, then turned and flounced out, skirts swishing and hair bobbing.