One of them Ranger types

The rooster has not yet crowed and the sun has not yet risen. It may be late March, but the light rain that is falling brings a chill that goes right to the bones--so that, clearly, all decent folk must still be abed, under warm covers piled high. On top of Bree hill, the nearby woods are slowly waking: A bird chirps once to test the darkness for any sign of warmth or light. A squirrel stirs, rustling the leaves. The light rain makes splitter splatter noises against the new growth just now beginning to answer spring\'s slow warming of the earth. One other sound is here--light rustling in a steady cadence on soft, leaf-covered ground. Footsteps, to one familiar with the sound of a walk well trained to stealth. In the forest, a dark but small form moves steadily along, heading to the top of Bree hill.

[Thulion (#28108)]The tree forms are grey and indistinct in these hours before dawn, the eye easily deceived for there is neither light nor shadow to define. Atop Bree hill, silhouette hidden against the trunk of a large tree, there seems to be a form, not unlike that of a tall person hooded and cloaked. A trick of the light, perhaps. Or... not, for as the stealthy footsteps near, the top of it moves, turning to look towards the path, the gleam of eyes just seen beneath the cowl of it\'s hood. The figure seems to be watching the approach, but makes no sign, and does not move further.

Crunch. Crunch. Crunch. The footsteps approach steadily, but lightly--and indeed, the person coming up the hill does seem to be small. Not a hobbit, but not a man, and swathed in a cloak of grey, hood well up against the obstinate rain, face hidden in shadow by the darkness and the hood. Steadily the walker moves on, coming closer and closer and...stopping. A small puff of exhaled breath, still seen in the cold night air, reveals where the walker stands quite still, trying not to make too much noise as she halts, peering into the woods and the night, as if sensing someone there.

[Thulion (#28108)]\"It is early, for a walk alone in the woods,\" comes a man\'s voice, soft and carefully measured to carry just to the woman, seemingly coming out of the trees themselves. There is a soft rustle of leaves like a faint breeze stirring, and then from among the trunks the cloaked form shifts and takes a step into view. Grey eyes flicker beneath his hood. \"Why the need for stealth, at such an empty hour?\"

A small, pale hand--a young woman\'s hand--reaches up to push the hood back slightly, revealing dark hair and eyes, the eyes just a hair too narrow and angled to be from Bree, and the hair several shades too dark. The young woman\'s right hand remains beneath her cloak, but it is at her waist, and she stays still, standing off the path and in the trees, looking this man up and down. \"I could ask you the same, sir,\" the girl answers, her voice held steady by an effort. \"I was attacked several months ago in these woods. Are you part of that group of bandits, now returned?\" she demands.

[Thulion (#28108)]\"And yet you return again by yourself. A bandit would find this morning to his liking, indeed.\" The man\'s right hand moves beneath his cloak, and pushing the weathered brown-grey wool aside, he raises his palm outwards toward her. \"But you have naught to fear from me. No bandit am I, merely a traveller of the wilds. Still,\" He takes a step towards her, notable by only a soft rustle, even amid the dead leaves. \"I would know what brings you here this morn.\"

The young woman takes a step backwards into the woods, even as the man pushes his cloak aside, a little color draining from her face momentarily. She swallows hard when he reveals empty hands, but takes another step backwards as he advances. \"By what right do you demand these answers? You\'re not a member of the Bree guard--I know those men. You neither work at the Pony, nor at the healers, and you\'re not a merchant in the market. Nay, you don\'t even live here, as far as I can tell. Why should I tell you my business or give you information at all? Be gone, if you mean no harm. I have my own business to be getting about to.\"

[Thulion (#28108)]Lifting his hand, the man pushes back his hood at last. Raven hair falls to his shoulders in unwashed tendrils, and it has been many days since he has shaven, which certainly matches the soiled, weathered state of his cloak. His grey eyes are clear and keen, but calm and dignified notably unthreatening as he looks upon her. \"You are right,\" he says with a nod of his head. \"I do not live here not in Bree, at least. I ask because it strikes me strange that a woman, having been once attacked, returns then to the same place... at an hour when help is unlikely to be found.\" He does not advance again, but drops his right hand back beneath his cloak in the flutter of the cloth, perhaps the eye could catch a faint gleam of metal at his left hip.

\"My business is my own, sir,\" Cordelia says with a small huff, \"and I\'m not about to tell you what it is so that you can track my habits.\" With that, she starts to walk forward, making as if to pass the man on his right side, and thus get to the very top of the hill and down the slope toward Bree itself. But as she does so, the man drops his hand, gleam of metal revealed. Quick as a flash, Cordelia\'s right hand darts out from under her cloak, a small knife held therein. Her hand darts out to try to slash at his sword arm even as she suddenly starts to run past him.

[Thulion (#28108)]The woman\'s slash is quick indeed. Revealing himself as one not unaccustomed to combat, reflexively the man drops his right shoulder back, and the dagger snags only upon the cloth of his cloak, leaving a small tear. Wheeling about, he takes a swift stride after her, calloused left hand darting to try and get a hold of her right forearm even as she starts to run from him.

\"Help!!\" Cordelia\'s scream pierces the woods, and even though there is noone around to hear her scream, she screams again as the man catches her arm, stopping her from running away. \"Let me go!! Help!!\" Unable to slash with the knife, she squirms, trying to wriggle out and kick at him at the same time.

[Thulion (#28108)]The man\'s grip is strong, but not so tight as to hurt her, though neither does he release her as she struggles against him. \"You see?\" he says, and his glance is hard and stern, for a moment his voice almost dangerous. His visage relaxes then, and shaking his head, he reaches with his right hand to pluck the dagger from her captive hand. \"Were I a bandit, there would be nothing you could do. But come, I wish you no harm.\" Saying so, he does release her then, and flipping the dagger over in his hand, he offers the hilt of it back to her. \"If indeed you will insist upon such unwise ventures, you would do well to better learn to defend yourself.\"

With a gasp at the sound of the man\'s voice as he speaks low to her, Cordelia falls suddenly silent, her struggling stopped. She stays that way, not moving even when he hands the knife back to her. Instead she stares at the knife, and then her eyes raise to the man\'s face,a nd she stares long and hard at him. Very slowly she takes the offered knife back and re-sheaths it at her waist. Only then does she speak, her words forming slowly, though, as once again she stares at the man.

\"I have no choice. I work at the healers at dawn, but my home is in Combe.\" She pauses, as if trying to collect herself--now that the immediate danger is over, she has started shaking. \"You\'re...\" she peers at Thulion, eyes narrowed, but without hatred or anger in them, \"you\'re one of those ranger types, aren\'t you? You look like the rest of them, as if you\'re all from the same land somehow.\"

[Thulion (#28108)]\"Indeed, I am.\" the man answers her simply, dipping his head in a nod, grey eyes unreadable in the dusk. He sniffs softly, lifts his gaze to glance about them. \"Are there no others, then, in Combe, who must go to Bree in the morn?\" asks he, tugging his cloak about himself once again. \"It is a risky road to walk every morn. Have you other routes which might be taken?\"

\"Noone that I know of, sir, and I don\'t work mornings every day. Most nights I sleep at the healers, but on my days off I go to my uncle\'s in Combe. And the only other way...well, it\'s the road, and I trust that less. Mostly the woods have been safe here. But some bandits came through a while back, and since then, I carry a knife....please dont\' tell the mayor!\" she adds hastily. \"I\'m not supposed to carry a weapon, but...you understand, no?\" She glances toward Bree hill. \"I need to get to work, but...well, you can find me in the Pony later if you want....\"