His bottles have a lick of wet. This morn, men patch roof holes, test monkey-locks, re-letter worn signs ere the rains come – mend what's marred. Haradric taverners smile at him more easily, though 'tis cookies they give now – money's tight after this bad season.
The violinist, forked and weary, plays softly to the day for no coin, just gladness. Relief's coming...
Prompt: bottle, wharf, violin, moon, monkey, fork, hole, lock, sheet, pendant, crystal, cookie, letter, money, tail