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Post by Ringulf on Oct 11, 2010 21:56:32 GMT -5
The dark figure moved along the Pictish shoreline, picking his way along the rocks and dunes up the beach from the tide line. The terrain was not easy but it was firmer than the sand of the beach and he was able to hide his silhouette among the rises and fall of the dunes and the rocky outcroppings that rose to the headlands.
He was heading south south west toward the Araluen border, he would be entering Marshwood fife very soon.
His black and grey clothing was starting to dry but he put the discomfort from his mind. Keeping a quick but steady pace and only stopping occasionally to listen for any sounds that might warn him of an enemy nearby, He felt the warming sensation of exertion in his limbs and his core.
Nights like this were no stranger to him, in fact he felt as one with the night. If you couldn't see then chances are you could not be seen, you could fold the darkness around you let it envelope you like a velvet cloak and hide within it, bright eyes peering out, ready to strike when your quarry came close enough.
No waiting tonight. There were miles to be covered and dangers to circumvent before dawn and the harsh violation of the sun revealed him to his foes.
No, for now it was his time he was in his element and woe be to the unsuspecting creature that got between he and his objective.
That poor creature happened to be a sentry not more than ten minutes later as he crawled up under the campsites outer ring of dunes he could see the man looking out staring into the night watching for whatever he and his comrades could possibly fear, watching for the very nightmare that he in reality was.
He came up silently for all his bulk and drew out a very small crossbow raised it and pulled the trigger with out any hesitation or remorse.
The small quarrel with it's poison tip lodged in the sentries throat The neuro toxin paralyzed his vocal chords first then spread to his arteries and entered his brain where in a matter of split seconds he died. he was actually dead before his body started to fall forward to the ground.
"A good shot." he thought sarcastically to himself, "If it weren't for the bowman behind me."
He heard the bowstring twang and felt the arrow's wind and he fell into a back roll and twisted to come up directly below the Marshwarden.
As he looked up from his knees, two wrist mounted stilettos sprung out from inside his sleeves. He thrust his left hand up into the mans belly and behind his ribcage, up into the vital organs. As he retracted the blade from his victim he spun on his right foot and swung his left leg in a circle that took out the legs of the Marshwarden like he was scything a sheaf of wheat. The hapless warrior fell on his back and the dark figure sliced the prone man's throat with his right hand putting his left over his mouth to silence any stray sound that might alert others.
There was only the gurgle of air as it passed through blood and escaped out the Wardens neck and chest.
He rose and cleaned his weapons, retracted his two blades, retrieved his poison quarrel and disappeared around the encampment. he still had several miles to the place he expected to meet his contact and just over an hour before dawn.
Setting the same quick steady pace, the bringer of black death moved on into the night.
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Post by Ringulf on Oct 13, 2010 17:05:51 GMT -5
The dawn came red and hazy from the East. The cool land breeze collided with the warmth of the ocean, that meant fog and quite a bit of it. Good, that would make his passage through the countryside all the more concealed.
He unstrung his cloak and reversed it from the black to the grey side. He would blend better this way. He was starting to come into territory that was less sparsely inhabited and on the off chance someone did see him he would look less conspicuous then if he had been entirely clad in black.
To this end he removed his black gauntlets, the stiletto mechanisms and his overtunic exposing the grey undertunic and bearing his large muscular forearms.
He stuffed the clothing he doffed into his leather rucksack and stuck the stilletos one in each boot and started down the road in a less furtive, more upright stride.
As he came over the hill he saw down below him in the distance the Port of Marshwood. He saw the castle and the many buildings, most made of fired greyish-brown brick. He could barely make out the thin grey masts that stood up on the shoreline behind the castle. In the fog the world became shades of grey.
The market would be there between the castle and the quays, that was his destination.
In less than half an hour he was amidst the Marshbrick buildings and could smell the mixture of salt air, marsh mud and the complex aromas of the marketplace.
Marshwood boasted a very large, extensive marketplace. In its many stalls and booths most anything could be found.
The market had grown up around the burgeoning fish and game industry that was Marshwood's lifeblood. The marsh combined with the river and the bay made for a very rich natural environment where much of Araluen's game-meat and fish came from. The naturally deep-water port here on the north fork of the Namath river was an excellent harbor and was even busier at times than Caraway's, though Caraway was a much larger fife. Birthed here was a faily large fishing fleet of a wide range of sizes and types of vessels as well as cargo ships and passenger ships. Their was even a Mail packet that left from marshwood as the most northern of its' ports to regularly hop along the ports of Eastern Araluen.
Much of Northern Araluen shipped their goods down the Namath to Marshwood Port to ship around the known world much to the envy of the Port of Caraway as it strove to eclipse Marshwoods activity.
Norgate used Marshwood almost exclusively and even the Scotti could be found trading there in numbers.
Into the winding rows of stalls and booths the large man went, disappearing amidst the many people who were already out and about shopping, selling and trading, before the sun rose too high.
He found a sheep stall with many animals in a byre next to it and walked up to the proprietor.
In a gruff voice he said, "How high is the price of Scotti mutton?"
A swarthy Scotti shepherd looked up from his chopping block were he was separating some sheep carcass and looked at the dark figure.
"No hay enuff Ah wou', sey!" and he drew back a curtained doorway that led into the back of the stall and jerked his head toward it.
"In here" he said and the ebon hulk pushed past him and disappeared behind the curtain.
The butcher went back to his work, but just has he was separating a joint he winced and looked down at his thumb to see on it a long, thin slice. He looked at the blood welling up and dripping down his wrist.
"Weer lackley tew see alo' moor o tha' b'for the neakst mewn fer dam sheewre!" he said with a dark smile as he brought his hand to his mouth to suck away the blood.
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Post by Ringulf on Dec 2, 2010 21:47:18 GMT -5
The room she was in was dark and cold, the floor was covered with straw and it was by no means fresh.
Her limbs ached as she sat in near total darkness her hands and feet almost numb from the cold and the constriction of her restraints.
Her clothing was tattered and ripped and almost unrecognizable as garments. Her feet were bare as were her legs and she was tied tightly at the ankles and knees. Her captors had told her this was for her own protection as they laughed mercilessly.
Her wrists were tied together behind her back and her upper arms above her elbows were tied so tightly together that her shoulders knotted with pain.
She would cry for help or relief but the bit in her mouth kept her from making any intelligible words.
She had not always been kept like this but they had immobilized her this way because she had recently tried to escape.
She found out they had no tolerance for for disobedience or a strong will. especially the new commander, he was particularly brutal and cruel and had been the one to restrain her this way.
He had done worse when he wanted information about her fife for she thought it was her duty to resist, how foolish that was!
He used all types of strange devices to punish her, to apply pain to her body in unthinkable ways. No, her only duty now was to survive. Her mentor was dead, they had killed him very cruelly right before her eyes!
She vowed she would not end up that way, she would do anything to stay alive. The opportunity to escape had been too tempting to pass up. Now she realized it had been a trick and they all laughed at her when the leader caught her and punished her.
How long could she endure this! It had been months since her capture!
When would the Rangers rescue her?
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Post by Ringulf on Dec 15, 2010 23:14:12 GMT -5
"You waited too long to spring the trap and the boats were set up to close to the river's mouth I told you that the Semath was not going to be as easy as the Nemath there is more heavily guarded shipping as it comes from Araluen's Capitol port rather than Norgate which is pretty much the icehole of the continent! When the ship burned and you killed the ranger aboard why again, did you not take the cargo?"
They were sv'ral Rangers abourd her an we dinnu have enough time when th' bloody Marshwardens showed up, Then the dam skandians started shoo'in..." The survivor explained.
Are you sure there were not any Aslavians on war elephants or maybe carnivorous gnomes on giant bats! Honestly are there any more party-goers here to blame your incompetence on!"
"Honesly comander we thought the Wardens mey ha been on our trails for days or a' least since the las attack on the Nemath by Westmarsh Isle bu' the Skandian ship came out o' nowere an at the same time! Then tha' big bloody ranger, with axes no less! dumped two of our boarding crews an killed em all!
All right! All right! Since only two of you came back and you are both telling the same story either you are both lying in unison or that is what happened, now go get yourself tended too and be ready for another sortee the day after tomorrow! Meanwhile I will see if our little bird is ready to sing a bit.
The commander rose up and walked to the barn. it was mostly made from turf and field stones. The place was littered all over with the nasty flat things, but since there were less trees than sheep building was done with what was available.
He unlocked the door and opened it leaving it ajar to let in some light.
He looked down at his captive. Her bare dirty legs indicated to him that she had been trying to roll about and free herself or at least do some exploring. Well so much for not anchoring her in one spot. "I suppose I am going to have to suspend you from the beam again so you don't go rolling around. You look rather dirty what would the corp think if they saw you so unkempt and out of uniform? we are gonna have to clean you up."
He grabbed her by the hair and pulled her painfully to her feet but her feet were so numb she could not stand.
"So we are gonna play helpless are we? Well here lets see if this will help. He pulled out a long thin knife from his boot. He inserted it between her thighs...then he thrust it down with a slash.
The binding around her knees dropped off but their impressions remained on her flesh. He did the same to her ankles and yanked her up again to her feet holding her up by her hair until she could support her weight.
When she finally could he pushed her out the door his fist still entangled in her hair. He marched her to the watering trough and roughly pushed her face first into it.
The trough was a bit longer than she was and half full of cold water, with her hands and elbows tied so tightly behind her she cold not raise her head out of the water or even move side to side. He was drowning her!
"Well now lets see do we scrub all that unseemly dirt of your body or do we let you breath, hmmm lets clean first cleanliness is next to Godliness you know!" He started to roughly scrub her legs and feet and as she struggled he laughed to himself, "...what? what was that?" Then he grabbed her hair again and lifted her head out of the water. He sprung the bit from her mouth, ans as she gasped for air, he put his head close to hers and whispered in a grating voice. "I am only gonna ask you this one time and if I am not liking your information, I promise you are gonna get very, very clean, do you understand?"
She nodded her head as she sputtered and coughed up water.
"Gooood, now where is the ranger cabin and the Marshwarden barracks in Marshwood and how many wardens are there?...."
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Post by Ringulf on Feb 24, 2011 11:04:05 GMT -5
Steam curled in tiny little wisps from the surface of the water.
She was just starting to be able to feel the warmth coming back into her limbs and was not altogether sure if it were not going to be better that they were still numb.
The myriad of bruises and scrapes from the torturous environment she had been relegated to for many weeks had left their signs on her.
Now the large tin bathing tub was filled to almost the brim and she reclined with all but her head below the warm water.
She had scrubbed the filth from her body scouring herself with a rough brush until her skin was red, as though she could strip the uncleanliness from her body, but it was to no avail.
The type of clean she was looking for might never come.
She had done what she had to to survive, she had told them everything she knew and now lives other than hers would be lost.
When the information the commander had needed was extracted from her, the cruel man's demeanor suddenly changed completely.
She was taken from her sod and stone prison and dragged into the main building and out into the room she was currently in.
The tub of heated water was in the center and next to the fireplace were hooks that held several kettles with heating water to keep the temperature of her bath.
They put her in the room gave her a rough burlap tunic and a woolen shift along with a pair of fleece slippers and a rope belt
"Wash and dress!" the man who shoved her roughly in the room as though his fun had been spoiled said to her.
"Food comes later when you are clean!" she herd the door close behind him and the sound of a bolt being thrown.
She looked around and saw that there were no windows and that the room smelled deeply of smoke.
She had removed her ragged strips of clothing and threw them into the fire and did as she was told.
Now she tried to feel for the first time in many weeks the pleasure and warmth of the water.
It felt remarkable after all the pain and discomfort she had undergone but as she got out and dried herself, donning the rough garments she realized she might never feel as good again.
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Post by Ringulf on Feb 25, 2011 11:38:22 GMT -5
The commander addressed a throng of rough unwashed and surly men.
"Well while you boys were playing with the locals and making the servants of the king "uncomfortable" I had a rather enlightening trip." He paced back and forth as he filled them in on the points of reconnaissance and they were amazed at what their leader had been able to learn.
"As far as these infernal Rangers go, we have additional complications, Not only is the Intel we got from the girl to old to do us any good, by her own ignorance she would have led us into a very difficult scenario altogether."
"Sew wha keep her atol! Les have er then sli' er throat, then w' wone hav t' feed er an watch er all th' tame!"
"Yes... I suppose you have all been controlling your bestial urges and I should throw her to you pack of dogs like she was a mutton joint for you to gnaw on between you!....unfortunately for all of you we are still going to have use for her, so back off! anyone damages her besides me and the throat slitting will start for real!"
"The additional complication I spoke of in Marshwood is this new Ranger and his apprentice who have taken over there. Mac heath was bad enough but at least we were able to bribe him, this one...well this one is still around because you didn't take care of he and his little she- whelps when you had the chance, it is the big two axer from the Persephone, but he is worse now, he has an entourage in the ranger cabin in the port and he has gone and hired an ex ranger woman to lead the wardens in Westmarch. I don't think we will have too much trouble with her, she is retired due to her injuries and looks to be rather worn."
"She'll be worn even worse when we get through wi her eh boys?" One mostly toothless scrub said with mischief in his voice.
"Do you not listen to me when I speak? I said she was an ex RANGER! Not an ex Scotti herdsman or cattle thief. A wounded ranger is still as dangerous as a wounded bear or wolf, they are diminished but that makes the more determined and thus more dangerous. No we will have to wait for a while they are all in Norgate right now at the revel so attacking the compound in Marshwood would only kill us a few wardens..."
There was grumbling among the knaves thirsting for blood and revenge.
"Calm down I didn't say we were not going to hit them I said not right now. Besides it is not a good time for extended operations in this cold and I already have a force of...individuals in Norgate that may be able to take care of this Ursan or Ringulf whatever he calls himself and his brats as well as the others who are foolish enough to associate with him."
There were appreciative nods and jeers at the commanders remarks.
"Still we are going to have to plan carefully how to deal with these forces, the rangers and the wardens stand in the way in Marshwood and the Knights and military of Araluen seem to stick their noses into our plans at every chance they get so we are going to swat the pesky flies and when we rid ourselves of the vermin, we will continue with our plans!"
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Post by Ringulf on Oct 22, 2011 23:17:47 GMT -5
"C'mandr ah have nyews from th' south, No a wun cam bock!" said the dirty disheveled warrior in the ragged kilt.
The Commander did not turn his back and continued to work on some large piece of parchment on the desk in front of him.
"Of course they didn't, they were not supposed to. Did they inflict casualties?"
"Ah ye sir Ah b'lieve th' did, frum wha' aye hared theh tore a right bonnie bunch of em up b'for theh wheer slau'ered."
"Very good then, that shall do nicely we should start seeing results within the next week or so...had it been warmer we might expect a quicker outcome, but by the spring things will be beautifully in bloom, and we can start our final offensive. Is our secret weapon ready?" the commander turned and looked at the officer over his spectacles.
"Yes Sir....it...is ready t'goe ana tame yew need tew send it."
"Wonderful then send several men to deliver the package, use some of the more...expendable ones, do you follow me?"
"Aye sir Ah dew!" said the man with a carnal, almost wolfish grin.
"Dismissed!"
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Post by Ringulf on Sept 19, 2012 14:49:56 GMT -5
The shaggy, red, long horned cattle plodded on senselessly over the muddy trail of Marshwood's interior grasslands.
The trail was beaten, not by livestock, but by the many feet of escaping refugees making their way to the port to try to find passage off the Island or to any remote destinations south.
The smell of the herd was pungent in the girls nostrils, the men driving them smelled almost as bad. but it had been many days on the trail driving the herd south to the port to meet up with the Scotti merchants who were desperate for the beef and hides to feed and cloth the masses at exorbitent rates.
The men were of course clad in kilts and fleece vests and coats. All of which longed for a warmer sporran.
They were armed with spears to both drive the beasts and protect them from any who might wish to cut them out of the herd to feed the hungry mouths all around them.
Kristin Sheppard sat sorely upon a shaggy highland pony with naught but a sheepskin to cushion her sensitive bottom.
She was at the end of the entourage and felt every jostle and bump beneath her as the beast was led roughly by one fat Scotti with a wooden stump for a leg.
His poor balance and tottering gate was not helped by the consumption of the rye he almost medicinally swigged from the earthenware jug at his side, slung by a rope around his neck.
Many was the time upon the drive that the captured Ranger had seen her corpulent captor stumble to the ground, dragging her pony off stride and causing her immense discomfort from the sudden directional shift below her.
She was dressed in a pair of rough lambskin boots that reached to just over the middle of her thighs, she had turned them so that the fleece side protected her legs from the rough hide of her mount, but that was all the protection she was afforded as she wore only the woolen shift and the burlap tunic with the belt tied around another wide fleece encircling her middle. Over this was a crude wool cloak now of some grayish hue, though it was hard to tell if it had started out another color. She had been able to cut a strip from the hem that made it a bit shorter but had enabled her to wrap it around her neck and face and over her head as the cloak had no hood.
During the trek across the interior she had seen knights on horseback criss crossing the plain keeping an eye on the movement of the refugees and making sure that there was no trouble.
Many of the knights, though clad in armor, looked awfully young, some mere boys, downy fluff upon there unshaven faces.
She wanted to cry out to them, to seek her rescue, but she knew if she called out she would be looking at a spear tip thrusting out of her chest from behind and the boys in their armor would lie dead beside her, rain collecting in the pools of their dead staring eyes.
Just then a scratchy brogue startled her out of her thoughts.
"Wal lass dunna ge' any idees of makin yoor sitewation public to those li'le boys out thair ohn thair ponehs. They woan stand up tew much of a fight. How ere ye holden up?"
"I am sore and in pain and hungry just like the rest of you! What do you think? Are we stopping soon?" she asked gritting her teeth as the lumbering peg leg in front of her again pulled her ponies head to one side.
The man who had come up behind her saw the inebriated hulk and noted the girls response.
"So yewr a bi' sore are ye? well at least yewr feet hav been spared if not your delicate little fanny, but done yew worry they'll be the usual line of dirty hands to minister to your sore muscles when we get intew the forest, Tha' ahm thinkin will be the end of the line fer yew and were we will be partin company for the port."
"Good," she said acidly, not liking either the picture of the nights activities nor the phrase indicating the "end of the line", "I have had enough of you, your men and the smell of this entire group!"
"Ahm sure you have had "almost" enough of us lass, though I cannuh say the same for us of yew, Ah must say yewr presence has maed this li'le jaunt a bit more enjoyable than we all thought possible."
"You just wait till your imperious leader finds out how you obey your orders you little squint, I am sure he will show you the same kindness you and your men have shown me!"
"We will see lass, I am thinkin no' a wun of us will be seein he or you again alive so Ahl be sure to give you somethin tew remember us by when we get in!" And with that he trotted forward toward the rest of the herd, making sure to trip the fat pinleg on the way past.
Kristin could only grimace.
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Post by Ringulf on Dec 9, 2013 12:13:11 GMT -5
The crude cabin was dark and smokey. The smell inside was almost worse than the smell of the cattle outside and the sound of the dirty, raucus Scotti drovers and guards, now a bit drunk on the spoils of the cabin's original inhabitants, filled the Ranger's Apprentice with revulsion and fear.
It would only be a matter of time before this mob would turn ugly. Fortunately for her, right now, they were more hungry and thirsty for the food and spirits they had killed the farmers for than for her, but she knew from experience that this focus would change as their other needs were met and they felt less of the pain and discomfort of the trail.
It was late afternoon when they had come upon the farmstead back in the woods, off the road that led down towards the coast. the great plains that were called the "Interior" in the fife of Marshwood had come to an end and a wall of green woodland had thrust itself up to the south and east of them.
From what she remembered of the geography of the fife, Bridledale was the closest town to them, but they had turned off the road just north of it, to avoid the town and find a place to hold up before striking the Dale Road heading east to the Port of Marshwood. This road was the deviding line between the Northwood and the bit of forest called "The Angle" or Anglewood, as it was bordered by three roads: the Dale road, the Marsh road, and the Low road.
Kristin was a bit confused as to why, if they had not wanted to attract attention to themselves, they had not stayed along the northern edge of the interior and used the pass between the hills and the Northwood that would have put them on the coast above Marshwood Port at Eastgate and they could have gone south to the port on the Dune road.
Of course there would be less inhabitants in both the small town of Eastgate and along the Dune road too, for that matter, but there would not have been very much grazing either and the folks along the Dune road were a mixed lot of reclusive wreckers and fisherfolk, a lot almost as surley and unsavory as the group she was now held captive by.
She supposed that the north pass and coastal trip might prove to be a tougher nut to crack and that these nere-do-wells were not very ambitious, nor were they the elite soldiers that she had been held by in Picta.
The big question in her mind now was, why the split? Why was she not going on to the port with them and if not then were? The southern road past Bridledale would bring her strait to Westmarsh, the home base of the wardens. The Interior stretched west along the woods called the Greenbelt as far as the Hither hills, nothing that way not even a town on this side of the belt other than Heatheridge and that was smaller and more remote than Bridledale, just an inn stop and support for the local farmers and ranchers in the western interior.
A few of the gluttonous pigs were done with the meal and the drink and were starting to fall asleep and snore. a few were smoking and gambling, one or two stepped out the door she was tied next to and she could hear the sounds of them relieving themselves just off the portch.
"Wonderful!", she thought to herself, "another addition to the growing number of fowl sounds and smells I have to contend with!"
One big thick browed clod came back inside, barely having even readjusted his ragged kilt from his activities, and plopped down next to her with a drunken smile on his face, seeming quite pleased with himself. This one had taken advantage of her before but at least was not one of the cruel ones so she remained nuetral as he reached over to her and started to play with her long hair. This one only wanted to satisfy himself and go to sleep but she knew he was one of the biggest and strongest of the men and that he was very territorial, so as he leaned over to start nibbling on her neck she gave a wink to one of the other men she knew was big enough to challenge him. Unfortunately he looked away and her old friend the fat pegleg intercepted her flirtation. He rose to his "Foot" a bit unsteadaly, gave a loud belch and made some other vile noises and tottered over to them.
"Eh wha' dun yew stop hoggin the wench wi' all yer slobberin and share aliak wi yewr brothers?" He slurred with a snicker as he looked back at a group of the men he had just left.
"Aw git stuffed ya fat weasel, she's mane fer now an yew can go antertain yersealf 'till I has had me fill!"
"Fa' weasel eh? Hows 'bout ah show ya how anterteanin the end o' my peg can get, ya churl, b'fore ah use it on her?" he growled lifting the end of his peg leg with a meaty hand behind his knee.
The group behind him burst out in laughter and cat calls, egging the two on to fight. Eventually an all out brawl enseued as the amorous ape jumped up and struck the fat invalid so hard he came down in the middle of the group of rowdy gamblers.
Kristin laughed and tried to stay out of the way of the bodies and feet that were stomping and falling all around her, still not a very safe situation, but it was preferable to the alternative, so her plan was, in a way, starting to work out when...
The door Burst open and a large Scotti tugging a rope behind him enterred the cabin.
"Wha' the heal is goin on heer yew bunch ov filthy buggers!! Geh yewr festerin hiades the heale oata me wey ur ahl skin th' lot of ye!" He shouted angrily brandishing a one edged basketed broad sword and pulling his captive into the room behind him.
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Post by Ringulf on Feb 3, 2015 23:39:03 GMT -5
The door Burst open and a large Scotti tugging a rope behind him enterred the cabin.
"Wha' the heal is goin on heer yew bunch ov filthy buggers!! Geh yewr festerin hiades the heale oata me wey ur ahl skin th' lot of ye!" He shouted angrily brandishing a one edged basketed broad sword and pulling his captive into the room behind him.
The captives hands were tied in front of him and he stumbled in behind the Scotti warrior, sore and only half conscious. With a viscious pull and a snap the warrior flung the old man to the ground like a large sack of flour. He landed with a hard thump on the floor next to the Ranger's apprentice.
"Teak caire o' him, e' ga' 'is nose in tew ahwer buisiness an now heel pey th' price fir it! Feed 'im an give 'im somthin ta drink or 'e wilna be worth a spit on the trail tomarrow! Ahm going tew sleep" The big Scotti said to Kristin.
She unbound him and propped him up against the wall in a seated position next to her. The others had lost any interest in her and had none for the old man at all, so most just turned and went to sleep. They figured sleep was one of the only things that would keep them out of this big surley man's way.
"Th..thank you Missy, I thought I was a gonner there for a bit, I am terribly sore, I guess I just am not used to horse travel, but I am not quite as bad as I look, no worries." he said to the girl and she saw the quick wink he gave her to indicate his demeaner.
She got up and went to the pot on the fire were the lamb stew sat burned around the edges but still edible and she grabbed a few crusts of bread. There was a bit of cheese that had been pushed off to the side that had been part of the farmer's larder and she grabbed that too. When she had filled and given him a wooden bowl and spoon she went back to the bucket of water and scooped up a clay jar full and brought it back.
"Here you poor man, it is not much but it may do you some good, with a bit of sleep. I can't promise anything, but I would be willing to bet you may not be their type, you are no woman and not a sheep, so you should be able to sleep soundly without any...interuptions." Kristin wispered.
"Thank you my dear, but if you value your freedom and possibly your life we need to escape this very night while these buffoons are asleep. Are you strong enough to make a run for it after a bit?"
"I am ready anytime you are, what is your plan?" she wispered fearing one of them might hear her.
"When all are asleep pretend to go tend the fire, put on a few peices of kindling and put this fern underneath them, then close the damper and come lie back down. I have a scarf I will tear in two, when you come back wrap it around your nose and mouth like a bandit, your eyes may sting but we need them to see our way out. The smoke will get thick and this little fern ball will put them all down for a while or at least make them very groggy. don't take off the scarf until we are a long ways out of here, got it?"
She looked at him with surprise in her eyes, and knodded her understanding. This man had seemed near death when he landed at her feet but now he had in the wink of an eye concockted a plan just crazy enough to work!
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