The room was small, only a third the size of her bedroom at home if that, but it wasn’t cramped. There were windows along the far wall, letting in the hazy sunlight. The bed was only big enough to lie in, and was draped in coppery red. The woodwork seemed simple enough, though generations of sleepless youths had carved into it – initials, mostly, but also crude shapes and forms.<br/><br/>There was a chest by the foot of the bed, and two chairs by the small fireplace, cushioned with the same copper-red fabric on the bed. There was only one carpet in the room, between the chairs, and it had several small scorchmarks where embers from the grate had fallen.<br/><br/>On the wall to her right, her family’s motto had been engraved into the whitewashed stone;<em>Grace And Glory Aloft</em>.<br/><br/>There were gas lamps set in the walls, the pipes that couldn’t be hidden in the old stone disguised with white paint. There was another lamp by the bedside, and a bundle of long matches on the mantle. A washbowl and jug stood on the windowsill.<br/><br/>“Don’t worry about it – half come here as thick as a plowman’s horse. If you really want, I could help you.” Jonas leaned on the doorframe, his eyes on the motto. “You have some dragon-obsessed ancestors and no mistake.”<br/>