Go to the inn for a celebratory drink.

The village only has a single inn, too small to have a name. I walk up to the counter and demand a pint of ale from the tall, handsome woman behind the bar. Her eyes narrows.

"Scuse me. Isn't that my dress you're wearing?"

"I don't know what you mean."

"That's my dress," says the woman, as a party of rowdy farmers come in through the front door. They're blocking the only exit. I take a step back and smile nervously.

"I'm sure there must be some mistake."

"No mistake. Let me show you what we do to thieves around here."