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Loamsdown moved swiftly from chore to chore. Much needed to be accomplished before hungry patrons arrived that evening.
As he entered his stables, Greymane and Plumpy greeted Loamsdown with an exuberant neigh that nearly resembled a chuckle. The ponies could feel their shoes loosening and had spotted the farrier tools in the old man’s hands.
Twas one of many tasks around the property, one that Loamsdown truly took pride in. There was a time when he had pursued the thought of breeding his prized race ponies, now a distant memory as their gait grew creaky and slow.
As he stooped down, pick in hand reaching for Greyman’s hoof, Loamsdown noticed a curious satchel at the edge of the stall. A small leather pouch, the tying string had been loosened. Upon closer inspection the initials - “JH”. As his focus changed to the ground, a few pennies could be seen scattered down the hill. The sleuthing innkeep tossed the bag up in there air, causing it to make one complete flip, and quickly snatched it midair. “Jamwine”, he smirked.