Post by rayf on Nov 10, 2008 16:26:37 GMT -5
“'Ave you been out 'ere all night,” the voice of a gruff dwarf broke the silence. Rayf looked up as Izmor dropped a fishing pole next to him and then sat with a heavy 'thud'. Not waiting for any answer, the dwarf pulled a loaf of bread from a pack which he ripped and handed the smaller portion to Rayf.
Rayf took it, suddenly aware of his surroundings. The fire he had made had long ago gone out. The sky in the east was filling red, chasing the night away. The chill of dawn gripped him, and Rayf cloaked himself quickly. He nodded his answer to the dwarf.
“The Pony was too loud tonight,” the red-haired lad said simply.
“What's on yer mind, lad?”
Rayf shrugged, but the look in the dwarf's eye reminded him that he would not let the question go unanswered. “Home, mostly,” Rayf admitted. In truth, it was simply home. Months had passed since Rayf found himself in the village of Combe, far from home and robbed of all that he had. He longed to return to the life he knew in Rohan, to those he missed most.
“There's times when I miss the halls of my kin,” Izmor admitted, his voice quiet and his gaze distant. Long silent moments passed with both looking out beyond the horizon. Izmor still gazed into the distance when he spoke again. “'Ese are times full o' trouble, Rayf,” he continued. “An' 'ese folk,” he gestured toward the walls of Bree, “they've no taste for the work of blade and shield. They're simple folk, merchants and farmers mostly.”
Rayf knew the truth of that. Morning was dawning, and in his village men would have already been up, tending to field and beast; yet all of Bree lay quiet still.
As if he read Rayf's mind, the dwarf nodded. “They need folk like you, lad. Good people that'll stand between them and the evils of this world.”
“I'm no warrior,” Rayf argued.
The dwarf laughed. “No? I've met youngin's, younger than you even, from the hills of Rohan that could no doubt drop men from a town such as Bree. Rohan's no easy land for man, let alone child.” The dwarf was still chuckling as he filled his pipe, lit it and took a long pull. He choked and coughed and continued to chuckle making a great noise that brought guards from inside the town walls to see the commotion.
“No, ye're no warrior,” the dwarf agreed when he finally caught his breath. “But ye've got the makin's of one. I've seen ye, protecting folk arlready and 'elpin' out where ye can.” Now Izmor caught and held Rayf's gaze. “Perhaps no warrior...yet, but there's a warrior's heart in there.” He tapped Rayf's chest with a thick finger. “Ye're father'd no doubt be proud.”
“You decide, lad. If yer stayin', I know a group of folk who'd welcome ye. They could use yer help, I reckon.” Izomor bellowed laughter again, “Oddest group I've ever seen. Men, dwarves, hobbits, even elves – elves!” He slapped his thigh and spit. “Call themselves the Pillagers of Pipeweed! Fiercest lot in a fight, an' drink a dwarf under a table!” Izmor laughed so hard he fell backward. He lay in the dew-drenched grass laughing heartily. “Pillagers of Pipeweed!” he kept saying through fits of laughter.
Pillagers of Pipeweed, Rayf thought. An odd name, but Rayf decided he would aid them, however he could. When at last he could return to his father's home, he would do so with his head held high.
Rayf took it, suddenly aware of his surroundings. The fire he had made had long ago gone out. The sky in the east was filling red, chasing the night away. The chill of dawn gripped him, and Rayf cloaked himself quickly. He nodded his answer to the dwarf.
“The Pony was too loud tonight,” the red-haired lad said simply.
“What's on yer mind, lad?”
Rayf shrugged, but the look in the dwarf's eye reminded him that he would not let the question go unanswered. “Home, mostly,” Rayf admitted. In truth, it was simply home. Months had passed since Rayf found himself in the village of Combe, far from home and robbed of all that he had. He longed to return to the life he knew in Rohan, to those he missed most.
“There's times when I miss the halls of my kin,” Izmor admitted, his voice quiet and his gaze distant. Long silent moments passed with both looking out beyond the horizon. Izmor still gazed into the distance when he spoke again. “'Ese are times full o' trouble, Rayf,” he continued. “An' 'ese folk,” he gestured toward the walls of Bree, “they've no taste for the work of blade and shield. They're simple folk, merchants and farmers mostly.”
Rayf knew the truth of that. Morning was dawning, and in his village men would have already been up, tending to field and beast; yet all of Bree lay quiet still.
As if he read Rayf's mind, the dwarf nodded. “They need folk like you, lad. Good people that'll stand between them and the evils of this world.”
“I'm no warrior,” Rayf argued.
The dwarf laughed. “No? I've met youngin's, younger than you even, from the hills of Rohan that could no doubt drop men from a town such as Bree. Rohan's no easy land for man, let alone child.” The dwarf was still chuckling as he filled his pipe, lit it and took a long pull. He choked and coughed and continued to chuckle making a great noise that brought guards from inside the town walls to see the commotion.
“No, ye're no warrior,” the dwarf agreed when he finally caught his breath. “But ye've got the makin's of one. I've seen ye, protecting folk arlready and 'elpin' out where ye can.” Now Izmor caught and held Rayf's gaze. “Perhaps no warrior...yet, but there's a warrior's heart in there.” He tapped Rayf's chest with a thick finger. “Ye're father'd no doubt be proud.”
“You decide, lad. If yer stayin', I know a group of folk who'd welcome ye. They could use yer help, I reckon.” Izomor bellowed laughter again, “Oddest group I've ever seen. Men, dwarves, hobbits, even elves – elves!” He slapped his thigh and spit. “Call themselves the Pillagers of Pipeweed! Fiercest lot in a fight, an' drink a dwarf under a table!” Izmor laughed so hard he fell backward. He lay in the dew-drenched grass laughing heartily. “Pillagers of Pipeweed!” he kept saying through fits of laughter.
Pillagers of Pipeweed, Rayf thought. An odd name, but Rayf decided he would aid them, however he could. When at last he could return to his father's home, he would do so with his head held high.
Rayf!