There were few things quite as boring as sweeping the stables. Bella grumpily pushed the wide broom down the walkway, kicking up dust and not much else. Every bell-chime, sweep. Even if no one had been out of the stalls much less plodded down the walkway. Sweep. Even if the stables were two-thirds empty because of the war. Sweep. Even if no one was supposed to go riding today. Sweep. Even if there was nothing left to sweep. Sweep.
She had half a mind to just burn the whole thing down.