It was miles from anywhere, and through the forests of the Frozen North was a cold wind blowing.

Clarity had worked at the Please Stop Inn for as long as she could remember. It was an old place, stuck at the crossroads of two nearly forgotten roads that got less traffic in a year than the average street in Canterlot got in a day. It was squat, two short stories tall, and built well enough from stone to keep it from being drafty. It clearly valued function over form; it was nothing to look at outside, borderline ugly, but inside was wonderfully comfortable. The common room was well-heated by the furnace in the basement, it was almost always fully stocked with food and drink, it had plenty of rooms for guests that kept out the cold, and the beds were comfortable and clean. Not that they were used much; Clarity was so far out in the middle of nowhere that entire moons could go by without a single guest, and her staff consisted of one pony: herself. She cooked and cleaned and got supplies and made repairs and did everything the inn required.

But the loneliness never got to her. It was her inn. It was intimately familiar to her, with its creaky floorboards and its strong walls and its smoky furnace, like its layout had been implanted in her brain. She knew every inch of it inside and out, and knew she’d never find another calling if she left. This was where she was meant to be. It was warm. It was safe. It was home. The isolation didn’t bother her; the inn alone was company enough.

There weren’t any guests at the moment, but more would come. They always did. They had to, with the inn being the only shelter for dozens of miles. Pegasi couldn’t control the weather up here, and travelers were always getting driven inside when the wind changed. Having been up here a while, Clarity could sometimes tell when the wind would change, which meant guests would be appearing, which meant she needed to get the place cleaner than usual. She didn’t think the wind was due to change at the moment, but Clarity knew she could be wrong, and the last blizzard had just blown through. Nopony was around; she might as well clean up the last group’s mess before it got bad and smelled.

They’d left plenty of trash around. Even with Clarity’s huge sacks, each the size of a pony, it took six of them to hold every little bit. Not one to pass up the possibility of free fuel, she hauled everything down to the cellar to burn in the furnace. And it wasn’t easy for her; as a crystal pony, she was perhaps the least-suited pony tribe for this sort of thing. Earth ponies were supernaturally strong. Unicorns had magic. Pegasi could add a little extra oomph with their wings. All Clarity had were her own, normal muscles. She was strong, but she was panting and sweating after the fourth trip down and decided to stop outside for a bit.

She didn’t put on her coat. The chill instantly bit all the way into her bones, but that just made her more alert and cooled her down. Besides, she’d lived up here her whole life; she was used to getting a bit nippy every now and then. She squinted at the trees and up and down the road, trying to see if anypony was coming. She doubted it, but it couldn’t hurt to check. And if somepony was coming, they’d always be reassured by a smiling face and a waving hoof greeting them.

But, no, there was nopony.

Clarity hauled the fifth sack down and waved a hoof to ward off the smell. Ugh. Going bad already? That one would be going in the furnace first. Just in case, she opened up the furnace and looked inside. The fire was still strong, but from the way the wood and embers were resting, she could tell it was going to get low in a few hours. She made a mental note to check it again soon.

The sixth sack was special; it was less than half as full as the others, as it had food that was still edible and hadn’t been destroyed. Grains, fruits, vegetables for ponies and other herbivores, meat for the few griffons that passed through. Keeping it cool was easy; laughable, even. Just stick it outside in the drafty room designated the icebox, and the weather itself did the job for you. In spite of it being “trash”, Clarity was very selective about what she picked. In fact, less than a quarter of the food that had actually been left was going into the icebox. Nothing that had been on the floor was to be eaten by somebody else, for example. She’d even made sure to carve out only the choicest bits of meat from the cuts that were left (she never ate meat herself, naturally, but she’d served enough griffons that she knew what to look for). Meat was hard to get, so she saved every little bit she could get.

With the food taken care of, it was time to wipe down the floors before the drinks stained them beyond repair. It wasn’t much, considering the floor’s only purpose was to be walked on, but Clarity liked to keep the inn tidy and stain-free. This was easy; blot the excess, put the rag in a sack to be taken down to the furnace. Dab the stains with baking soda. Soak a brush in vinegar and wipe it all down. Rinse with water and dry. You’d never see the difference. Easy.

Easy, but long and tedious. It was hours before Clarity had gotten to all the stains, and her legs and back ached from leaning down so much and applying so much fetlock grease. Still, when she was done, she smiled to herself. It felt good to accomplish something like that. It kept the inn — her inn — looking nice, even if only a few ponies saw it every year.

And that was that. The last group had been cleaned up after. Now, there was nothing to do but wait. Clarity pulled her favorite book from her room and curled up in her favorite overstuffed chair in front of the hearth. Silence. All to herself, until more guests came, as they always did.