The wounded go to Bree

Breelands Weather

The late morning summer air is very hot and dry around you. A light drizzle trickles from the sky.

The Chetwood

There is a large clearing in the trees here, a few hundred meters on each side. The clearing is in the shape of a rough oval, longer in the east-west direction than it is north-south. At the eastern side, the surrounding pines and thickets are thin enough that a faint trail can be made out. On all other sides the plant life appears to be impassable. The clearing is very large, a few hundred meters on a side. It appears to be a rough oval, long in the east-west direction, and thin in the north-south. At the east, the surrounding pines and thicket are thin enough that a trail can be made out, but on all other sides, the plant life is impassable. The clearing itself is home to a host of wildflowers, and many more insects. The very same insects produce quite a lot of noise despite their diminutive size. For the most part, the grasses and flowers remain knee deep for a human, or waist deep for a hobbit.

Contents:

Thari

Ovor

Torebras

Arainafin

Ered-Luin Encampment

Kellan

Dwarven Camp

Obvious exits:

North, East, and West

[Frarin] A miserable morning makes for miserable work, and this morn seems no exception. The hot August air is stifling and humid and seems almost touchable, so heavy is it. To make matters worse, a light drizzle adds to the wetness of sweat, dampening the onset of insects and cloaking the sun, but ultimately little welcome to the bedraggled camp. And, as if simply enduring the damp morning were not unbearable enough, the dwarves seem hard at work.

Several waggons have been made ready, at first a seemingly odd sight, considering the majority of the camp does not appear to be packing up just yet. But a further study of the readied wains reveals more. Emptied of their original contents, they are now set with spare blankets and makeshift pillows, with various healing supplies crowded inside. The camp\'s worst wounded, it seems, are preparing for departure. Healthy dwarves mill about, carrying those who cannot walk on stretchers to the waggons that wait to spirit the grievously wounded back to Bree. For what it is worth.

Thari\'s wine-colored hood is pulled well forward, cloak worn but open on the front. This, or the rain perhaps, explains the sheen on the dwarf\'s ruddy face. The healer right now is securing canvas over the top of a waggon. \"Careful!\" comes a caution as a dwarf is settled beneath on the bed. \"You\'ll be fine soon Niri, nothing to worry about my lad.\"

Down Thari jumps to thump on the sodden ground. Immediately the dwarf starts walking briskly toward a tent.

[Frarin] Beneath a makeshift canopy, the silver merchant Frarin sits, quite still and silent. There is a long hiking stick at his side and he leans back against a smooth white tree, jaw set and dark eyes roving the moving camp. Sweat beads about his brow from the hot morning and perhaps also from the moisture in the air, and it darkens his ragged green tunic around the neck and chest.

His left arm is still held in a sling at his side, but by far the merchant\'s chest wound seems the worse. He makes every effort not to slouch forward and compress the broken ribs.

Thari\'s grey eyes flash to the side, and suddenly the healer\'s path swerves toward Frarin. Quick steps carry Thari to the wounded silversmith, and just as brisk comes a crouch beneath the canopy and beside the other dwarf.

Then the healer seems to still. There is a hesitance while grey eyes look at brown. \"Frarin,\" comes low, quiet speech. \"You are intending on staying, then?\"

[Frarin] Frarin does not answer immediately, only nodding to Thari\'s approach. The fingers of his right hand beat absently on the ground at his side as she addresses him quietly, then the good arm lifts to wipe the sweat from his brow. He clears his throat gently, eyes squinting slightly in pain at the action. Speaking low, quiet but with his usual rumble returned instead of the gasping wheeze of several weeks before, he says, \"Would you counsel me to remain or to go?\" Not precisely an answer to Thari\'s question, but the silver merchant eyes the other, as if testing unknown waters.

[Thari(#31038)] A deep breath is released in a huff. \"I had thought for a time that if we are all to die \'twould be better for you to die nobly with us, Forli\'s son,\" Thari begins.

The voice is firm as usual, but underneath there is a thin thread of uncertainty. \"But now-- I want you to go. I do. Some are saying that the army is moving again and if it comes upon us I don\'t want you here. A rest in Bree would give you proper time to heal to defend it, and the lads and I can slow or turn their approach.\"

Thari\'s head is shaken. \"I don\'t know if this is proper counsel for you. This isn\'t my advice. It\'s what I want. I want you in Bree.\"

[Torebras(#25187)] There is a sound to the east. A faint rustling of bushes at first, the flap and squawk of disturbed birds, and then the unmistakeable clip-clop of hooves, light ones at that.

[Frarin] A bead of sweat rolls down from Frarin\'s temple and disappears into his glistening beard as he sits, silently listening to Thari. The silver merchant\'s expression is unreadable, though not stony, as Thari carefully speaks, voicing aloud her troubled thoughts. As moisture gathers beneath Frarin\'s eyes, he casts them down to the earth and again the fingers of his good hand drum the hot earth at his side. Frarin, it seems, has also given the issue deep thought.

\"I could not abide the thought of abandoning the company, at first,\" he says at last, voice still a low rumble, again making no direct reply to Thari\'s words, but apparently narrating his own mind. \"But I am no use here, only a burden and a worry, and I can abide that even less. I stood yesterday,\" he says, smiling sadly and with a humourless chuckle. \"Yes, on my own two feet, for ten minutes no less. And it only took two others to bring me to my feet.\"

Again he clears his throat with a mild grimace, then looks at Thari with a nod. \"I do not think that I will find rest in Bree, but I will not inhibit you or any other there. Bree will need a steady mind if the host comes there, and that at least I have, even if my body is of little use.\"

Thari suddenly looks to the east, strong hand going to the axe at the belt. A moment or two passes, sharp eyes studying the underbrush, then just as suddenly the sodden healer seems to relax and look back to Frarin.

\"You\'re not a burden!\" Thari scolds. \"Is this how you thought of me then, when you took care of me after the battle on our way to Bree? Oh, now I can see it, how you thought. \'Aah, that stupid Thari, no use to anyone and holding me back.\' Now I understand what I\'d forgotten! I\'d no idea what a horrible rude fellow you are, to think such things of me!\"

[Arainafin(#9802)] As if suddenly sprouted there, the form of that rather strange elven maid appears beside the bole of a tree - which her hand graces. Silent, she eyes the assembly thoughtfully, tilting her head first one way then the other.

In a whispered voice she murmurs,

\"Hobbits, and dwarfs, and men there are,...

yrch too there be,

and not too far.

What means all this, warm summers day?

Astray they are? Perhaps they\'ll say.\"

And that said she takes a something from a tunic pocket, pops it in her mouth and chews thoughtfully.

[Torebras(#25187)] Hobbits? Aye. As the slow plod of hooves grows louder, a pony and rider come into view. No, make that two riders - one a lanky human youth, sandy-haired, snub-nosed and freckled, the other a rather uncomfortable-looking hobbit. His clothes are of fine fabric, but the rain has plastered them to his (rather portly) form and caused the feather in his cocked hat to droop. He looks less the gaudy peacock, more the bedraggled sparrow.

He slides down from the pony\'s back with a bump, and edges away from the beast as quickly as he may. \"Wait here, young Master Kailshoes,\" he calls back to the lad, and then steps forward, clearing his throat. \"Ahem. Good morning,\" he glances round at the many bearded figures in clear view, and then ends, \"sirs\"

[Frarin] Despite the healer\'s less-than-truly-angry tone, Frarin seems bowed by her words, as if a sudden weight were placed on his shoulders. He expels an audible breath, wearied by his still troubled breathing, but also perhaps by a growing depression. \"No I did not think you a burden, of course not. It was my honour to care for you,\" he rumbles, at last beaten into admitting his service so long ago. \"But this is not the same, I am...\"

He drifts off, first out of apparent unhappiness, then because the clop of hooves seems suddenly to pull away his attention. He looks up and his brows raise as the sodden hobbit and youth come into view. Glancing to Thari, Frarin\'s resolve seems to harden back to something of its old character. He raises his right hand and points at her, face growing sharp. \"And you will not guilt me into recanting my words. If the host came upon us this very moment, you would act first to protect and spirit away the wounded, myself among them. When your first thought should be for destroying that evil.\" These last words, though still low, are spoken quickly as the dismounted hobbit approaches. Then Frarin looks up and nods only at the bedraggled sparrow. For the time, he seems not to have noticed the odd little elf.

[Thari(#31038)] Several dwarves bow to Torebras. Thari, crouched near Frarin, calls out a distracted, \'Good day!\' A longer, more suspicious look is given to the suddenly-appearing elven maiden, but this healer\'s attention is soon back to the wounded dwarf nearby.

\"I won\'t let you die,\" Thari answers in a quick, low growl. \"I won\'t let any of you die if I can help it. If this is a fault of mine, then I must live with it, and so must you!\"

[Arainafin(#9802)] Just what the chaos needs: an apparently airhead elf.

After doing a bit more listening to the sounds of the wood, along with some sniffing, the elvish thing makes her cautious way over to where Thari crouches. She bends down, hands on knees, to get a better look at Frarin. The suspicious looks she receives are replied with bright, cheerful, even just slightly idiotically innocent smiles.

\"Day is good, eves are better.\" She points at Frarin while asking Thari, \"Not dying, methinks, but stands a chance of being trampled, or mistaken for a doorpost, what with all the crowd hereabouts.\"

[Torebras(#25187)] Torebras returns the Dwarven bows with one of his own, sweeping his hat off his head with a flourish. \"Torebras Bywater at your service,\" he announces grandly, the effect spoiled by the nervous glance he sends back over his shoulder when the pony whickers (the lad gives the beast a cheery pat). He casts around for someone of authority, and his gaze lights on the healer. \"Are you .. ahem ... in charge here?\" he queries her. His distraction is not helped by the appearance of the elven maid - as he gazes on her dishevelled form, his brown eyes are wide and wondering.

[Frarin] Frarin\'s stony look darkens still more at Thari\'s growled words, and a deep, grim glare pulls down the corners of his mouth. His finger wags again beneath the healer\'s nose. \"It is not a fault and you know that perfectly well,\" he growls back, frustration building in his voice. \"But I am a burden and you cannot deny it. I would never forgive myself if our company were attacked and two or three of our kin were spared to drag me away from the fray when they could be put to better work protecting the healthy. Save those who can be saved, fine!\" he continues, working himself into anger. \"But I will accept no special treatment, do you understand? If -\"

And then, very suddenly, the swiftly growing frustration is put on temporary hold. For the oddest thing - is it an elf? - sits itself down at Frarin\'s side and begins talking as if he were not present. His brows come together as he eyes the Thing with confusion. \"What on earth are - eh, who are you?\" And then the sodden mayor of Bree is addressing Thari. So suddenly drawn back into a world beyond Thari, Frarin falls silent with a questioning look.

Arainafin waggles her fingers at Frarin then rights herself, blinking, still smiling. She suddenly gives an exagerated theatrical start as if noticing the hobbit for the first time. She doesn\'t seem the least bit concerned over the dire nature of what is going on, now clasping her hands behind her as she strolls about the hobbit to observe it from several angles. Wearing that entertainment out she steps up to the pony and whispers in it\'s ear.

Thari\'s expression darkens as Frarin speaks. Eyes narrow and spark. The healer takes in a quick breath to reply, when suddenly another creature pokes her head in under the canopy. \"He won\'t be trampled!\" Thari snaps. \"You\'d best be-- eh?\" Up the healer looks to Torebras. The dwarf stands now while looking at the hobbit. \"Of course I\'m not in charge! If anyone, Gimli Gloin\'s son is. Unless you mean on moving the injured to Bree-- then aye, I suppose I might be.\"

[Torebras(#25187)] As Frarin speaks, Torebras\' abstracted gaze suddenly snaps back into focus. He peers at the prone Dwarf, frowning - too lost in thought to object to the Elf\'s survey. He does, however, notice her whispering to the Pony, and calls out stiffly, \"What? What\'s that?\" Gathering his wits after a moment, he answers Thari, \"Doing what? I should like to know /exactly/ what is happening here. I am, after all, Bree\'s Mayor.\" No more \'sir\' now. He puts on his most formidable frown.

The pony\'s rider, meanwhile, looks down at the elf in awe. \"You\'re ... are you really ...?\" The beast merely cocks an ear and whickers softly.

[Frarin] Frarin\'s glare swiftly changes to perplexion as the strange elf-like person waggles fingers under his nose. The resumed anger is put off awhile longer as the silver merchant attempts to reassemble his mindset. It takes a second, but that puffed up tone, the drooping feather, eventually awakens a memory at the back of Frarin\'s mind, as of a scene from some other world long ago.

\"Master Torebras,\" he grumbles, speaking up now, though with an added scratchiness to his voice. \"Yes indeed, Master Torebras it is, the honourable mayor of Bree.\" Is the silver merchant being sarcastic in his delayed anger perhaps? \"I should think what is happening here is very clear, given what our company has tried to tell you in the past. I suppose that my broken body is again a result of my clumsiness, mm?\"

[Thari(#31038)] \"We\'re taking the wounded back to Bree to board them in the Pony,\" Thari answers Torebras in very clipped, irritated tones. The healer\'s hands rest on hips, tenting out the cloak. \"We\'ll be paying the Pony handsomely and I\'ll be paying your healers handsomely to look after \'em. I assume Bree is not now against copper and silver coins? Do you not believe in money now?\" Thari\'s ire, too, seems a bit excessive considering the situation.

Arainafin speaks to the pony in a lilting, musical, strange tongue which seems to get it\'s attention. With her arm over it\'s neck she then goes on in the common tongue, softly confiding to the pony, \"Tis a Gimli what\'s in charge, my darling, whatever that may be. Over there be a mayor. I think those are very important, but why I can\'t say. And you, my four legged furry, just might be having to carry yon doorpost out of these woods to more congenial shores, if you aren\'t careful.\"

[Torebras(#25187)] Torebras\' frown remains, and his brown eyes fix first on Flarin. \"It\'s clear to me that the Dwarves have been stirring up trouble,\" he snaps, and then takes a deep breath. When he continues he is rather more careful with his words. \"Bree is always happy to receive visitors,\" he tells Thari. \"And of course our healers are happy to treat patients given the proper contribution to the cost of care.\" Though almost as soon as the words are out of his mouth, he sends a surreptitious glance round the camp and is frowning again. There do seem an awful lot of wounded. \"Bree is /not/ happy to have Outsiders leading trouble right to our doorstep.\" Finally he runs out of steam and the words fade to blessed silence.

Arainafin hears the hobbits discourse out then whispers to the pony, \"Mayors must be *very* important.\"

[Torebras(#25187)] The pony nuzzles Arainafin softly, perhaps searching for bits of leaves in her hair. Its rider, the lad, watches silently. \"Are you talking to him - Andy I mean? Can you do magic? And Mister Bywater is very important, really he is!\" he adds earnestly.

[Ovor(#20753)]      From a tent, there comes grumbled words. This is followed by a Dwarf exiting from said tent, looking as if he has just been woken from sleep. The ringing of mail, hammer on shoulder and beard through curious belt-buckle, it can only be one Dwarf: Ovor, Thane of Zinbar. His grumbling seems to be coming from the noise in the camp now.

However, when the words of the hobbit reach his ears (for he is not too far off), his grumbling falls silent and is replaced by a slow scowl. Hammer hefted from shoulder, it is swung full onto the nearest tree, resulting in a loud \'CRACK!\'. The Thane\'s eyes, however, remain on Torebras.

\"Leading... trouble... hobbit?\" His voice, contrary to the action of his hammer, is quiet but carries well. \"How do you figure that... hobbit?\" His hammer is pulled away from the tree, but it does not yet come to rest on his shoulder.

[Frarin] A heavy cough soon follows Frarin\'s raised voice, which is perhaps fortunate, for his cheeks have grown red and more sweat has beaded about his brow. In fact, the silver merchant says absolutely nothing at first, as if sensing that speaking so soon after the cough will bring another. His eyes narrow and jaw tightens in apparent pain.

But it might be more than physical inhibition that keeps him from replying. Perhaps it is also a conscious reigning in of his anger, for his breathing has become steadily laboured with the argument with Thari, then his swift sarcasm towards Torebras. He says nothing and makes no movement save a pointed look of unhappiness.

Arainafin continues to explain softly to the pony, and to Andy, as she takes note of the newest dwarf and it\'s disposition, \"Important, but not too bright.\"

[Thari(#31038)] \"LEADing?\" Thari shouts. This is followed by a swift, sharp glance toward Frarin, and in this pause Ovor speaks. \"Leading?\" is repeated again. Thick, huffing breaths. \"By the forge. BY the forge! I\'m not... oo! You!\" At last the healer points at Frarin. \"We\'re getting you on a waggon and getting out.\" The Mayor is ignored for the moment.

[Torebras(#25187)] Torebras jumps at the sound of the hammer-crack, but as Ovor addresses him his face actually clears. \"Ah, Thane Ovor! At last I can speak to someone in charge.\" His tone is noticeably more ingratiating. Turning away from both the red-faced Flarin and the irate Thari, he focusses instead on the newcomer. \"My young brother told me about the camp here. Empty-headed he may be at times, but he\'s not blind. It\'s clear to me that you\'ve been fighting, and recently by the looks of it. We\'d spoken before about the dangers of the Wild. What guarantee do I have that you won\'t bring those dangers back to Bree? We want none of yon trouble here -we\'re hardworking, decent folk!\"

The pony whickers as if agreeing with Arainafin\'s assessment, and Torebras tenses, shooting a couple of nervous glances back over his shoulder as though expecting to be charged.

[Arainafin(#9802)] Shaking her head and smiling secretively to herself, the elven lass steps backwards, finds the shade of a nearby tree, then silently moves off into the woods, vanishing in moments.

[Ovor(#20753)]      The Thane snorts, shaking his head. \"Dwarves never bring trouble, hobbit.\" The words, through rumbled, are still quiet. \"If the dangers of the Wild come to Bree, it is because that is where they are going and there either have been no one to stand up against them or too few.\" A pause as the hammer is hefted onto his shoulder.

\"Understand, hobbit, that these things come here because you are hardworking, decent folk that have utterly no concern with anything outside your borders. They come because they know few if any amongst your folk have the gall to stand up to them there have been plenty with the gall to stand up to those that would seek to help them. If it seems we have brought trouble, it is only because those things we said would happen have and /are/ happening, hobbit. If you find the things of the Wild banging at your gates, howling to get in and staining the land of Bree with the blood of its people, it is because we Dwarves have either fallen or are of too few to offer any real resistance.\"

[Frarin] \"That is fine by me,\" Frarin growls in response to Thari, at last recovering his voice enough to refrain from sputtering and coughing as he speaks. Some of his pent up frustration seems to crop up again. With his good arm he takes a hold of the long walking stick at his side and plants the sharp bottom end into the ground, grasping the stick at about midway as if ready to heave himself to his feet that very instant. And indeed, he attempts, foolishly perhaps, to do just that. He makes a brief effort to haul himself up, legs pushing against the tree at his back, teeth clenched tight.

But all too swiftly the futile effort is realised and Frarin stays the attempt, his face significantly paler than before, save for the line of red across his bottom lip where teeth have dug painfully. The pain of the effort, however, does seem to successfully diminish Frarin\'s anger. Indeed, it seems to have wearied him excessively. Taking a shallow breath, Frarin is silent a moment.

Thari absolutely refuses to look at the Mayor. The healer\'s face is dark red, the beard bushy as the chin is stuck out, and Frarin is so very fortunate to have Thari\'s attention just then.

\"What are you doing?\" cries the healer, aghast. Thari bends over and places a hand behind his back while reaching for his unhurt arm to help him upright. \"You\'ll be the death of me, you will.\" Thari\'s tone has started to change from anger to stress by the end.

[Torebras(#25187)] The lad astride the pony would probably match Arainafin\'s assessment of \'none too bright\' too. He takes a moment to look towards his Mayor, and when he gazes back down his mouth falls open. \"She\'s gone! Disappeared into thin air! That was real magic.\"

Torebras, meanwhile, sets his shoulders and listens to Ovor, resolutely not looking behind himself. At the Thane\'s first words the hobbit\'s red cheeks grow more rosy, but by the last ones they have blanched a sickly shade of grey-white. \"The Wild come to Bree? Such a thing has never happened, not in living memory,\" he murmurs, a slight tremble in his voice. And for perhaps ten heartbeats or so he is completely silent.

Then, however, Bree\'s mayor finds his voice again. \"But camping out here in the Chetwood, it\'s bound to draw trouble closer. There /has/ been the odd spot of bother with trolls in the past,\" he concedes. \"And folk are getting nervous. The lumbermen speak of disturbance in the woods, the farmers in Combe fear for their livestock.\"

Frarin\'s efforts to rise catch his attention, and he breaks off complaining to shake his head (a drop of water falls from the feather on his hat to his nose). \"That fellow looks in a bad way,\" he comments, not unkindly. \"We\'ll give him a bed in Bree, certainly. How many more do you need to send, Master?\" This last is addressed to the crimson-faced Thari.

[Ovor(#20753)]      \"Listen to those that live closer to the wild, master hobbit. A wise leader listens to those that have experience in areas beyond his before making his decision.\" The Thane falls silent as he pulls a copper flask from his belt removing the stop, he takes a swig before stopping it and placing it back on his belt. \"If your lumbermen speak of disturbances and your farmers fear for their livestock, they have reason. And it is not the Dwarves.\" Another brief pause before he speaks again. \"And remember: just because it has never happened in living memory does not mean it has not... nor does it mean it never will.\"

Then, the Thane\'s gaze flicks towards Frarin, bringing a frown to Ovor\'s face. His hands begin to dig through the pouches on his belt, then, a mumble or two sent into his beard.

[Frarin] Frarin makes an attempt to shake off Thari\'s aid, but the effort costs him. The jolt to his recovering ribs makes him wince and let out a low grunt, and his eyes screw shut for a moment. This latest angry attempt to regain a semblance of pride seems the last, however, for the silver merchant leans his head wearily back against the tree behind him and takes as deep a breath as his hurt chest allows.

\"Master Torebras,\" he says, tone surprisingly steady now, if gruff with the pang of pain. \"If we have been short with you, then accept our apology. Mine, at least,\" he says, with a sideways glance at Thari. \"But I am indeed in a bad way, and cannot abide it without some semblance of frustration. Please know that if trouble comes behind us, we do not lead it, but rather are driven before it. That may be little comfort, but it is all that I can offer now.\"

[Thari(#31038)] \"Bah.\" Thari releases Frarin and straightens, running wet palms down the front of brown trousers. \"Hm?\" The red-faced healer looks at Torebras. \"I\'ll only be leaving perhaps six with you.\" There is a pause while Thari stares hard at the hobbit, and then the following sentence is said in hard, clearly enunciated words. \"The others died.\"

Briskly then Thari goes to a waggon and slides out a stretcher.

[Torebras(#25187)] \"I trust that\'s not a threat,\" Torebras begins, looking distinctly uncomfortable at Ovor\'s words, but Frarin\'s speech cut him short. Peering at the injured dwarf, he answers briskly, \"No need for that. We\'ll set you up right, don\'t you worry. A comfortable bed and some good food will work wonders. And there\'ll be no more talk of dying,\" he turns his round brown eyes to meet Thari\'s grey ones. \"Not in Bree.\"

He shifts from foot to foot for a moment, oddly reminiscent of his brother, then seems to come to some decision, for turns to address Ovor squarely. \"Thane, your folk are in a bad way - everyone\'d be safer if they were in town and not out here in the woods. And we\'ve a festival starting in a few days. You can camp outside the west gate if you wish.\"

[Ovor(#20753)]      A slight snort -- though if it is of amusement, it is difficult to tell -- comes from the Thane. \"I save my threats for the enemy, master hobbit.\" Seeming to find what he\'s looking for in his belt, he pulls out a silver-banded steel flask. The Thane moves towards Frarin, holding out the flask.

\"Here, Frarin. The last of Keeneye\'s Mountain Ale I have with me.\" Yet, as Torebras speaks to him again, the Thane\'s head turns to look at the hobbit. \"We will consider the idea, I can assure you for now, I cannot say yea or nay to your offer.\"

Clearing his throat, gently enough to stave off another wince, Frarin accepts the Thane\'s proffered flask before Thari can return to berate him. He lowers the flask to his hanging left arm and the unharmed fingers remove the flask cap. \"Many thanks, my lord,\" says the silver merchant to Ovor, replacing the cap after a quick swig and offering it back.

To the hobbit, Frarin also nods. \"A bed would be appreciated, Master Torebras, even if pride is wounded thus. But Bree can ever be counted on for hospitality, even in the face of a disgruntled band of dwarves.\" His words gain the same edge of sarcasm as before, but this time not unkindly, and he seems genuinely grateful to the hobbit mayor. But then Frarin\'s eyes go to Thari as she retrieves a stretcher, a look of one resigned to an unhappy fate working its way into his face.

[Thari(#31038)] \"Well then I\'m glad there\'ll be no talk of dying,\" Thari says to the mayor while taking the stretcher toward Frarin. \"Right glad. I\'ve been worrying about these lads enough to keep on doing so once I\'m gone.\" The healer lays the stretcher right next to the wounded silversmith, having either missed, ignored, or not cared about the flask.

\"Lie down now, Frarin,\" Thari instructs, voice at once gentler and more strained.

[Torebras(#25187)] The pony, bored with all this waiting in the rain (and the lack of attention from its rider, who is still looking forlornly round for any sign of his lost \'wood-sprite\'), snorts. Loudly.

Torebras twitches nervously, and actually takes a couple of quick steps forward, away from the beast. \"Ahem,\" he murmurs, and fusses with the brim of his hat for a few moments. \"I see,\" he answers. \"Well, good day to you, Thain Ovor. I\'ll head back and tell the healers to prepare some beds.\" Already the fear displayed earlier is fading from his memory. \"We\'ll be expecting you soon, Master Dwarf,\" this to Frarin, \"and those others you mentioned,\" he turns and sends what could be construed as a reassuring nod toward the stretcher-bearing Thari

[Ovor(#20753)]      \"Keep it, Frarin. I will not have you only have manling brews at your disposal.\" A brief grin twists the Thane\'s mouth before he looks back to Torebras, nodding. \"And to you as well, master hobbit.\" With that, the Thane takes a step back to allow room for the stretcher.

[Frarin] Frarin nods to Ovor and tucks the flask gratefully into his tunic. He also nods to Torebras\'s retreating back, though has no words for the departing hobbit. Instead, his attention is unhappily fixed upon the stretcher Thari carries. But resistance seems beyond him, for he offers no more angry words, though there is a muttered comment buried into his beard that sounds suspiciously like, \"Oh very well.\"

Again his jaw tightens and the grimace returns to his eyes and cheeks. Using his good hand, he gingerly lifts himself away from the tree. An audible breath escapes him as he slowly lowers himself to the ground to lie upon his back.

Thari gives a humorless smile to Ovor and nudges the stretcher further beneath Frarin as he lies down. A hand hovers anxiously near. \"Don\'t you worry, Frarin. Soon enough you\'ll be good as mithril. A week or two is a short time to wait for it in your life, isn\'t it? And I\'ll see you\'re well taken care of.\" She motions over a nearby dwarf and together they lift the wounded silversmith and start transporting him to the waggon.

[Torebras(#25187)] Torebras makes his way back toward the pony, and gazes at it with a daunted expression, twitching every time it moves a hoof. \"Need a hand, Mister Bywater?\" the lad riding the beast calls down, and then, not waiting for an answer, he reaches down and hauls his hobbit Mayor ungraciously into the saddle. \"Right you are. Off we go, Andy.\" The youth clicks his tongue at the pony, which obediently moves off, letting out the occasional sigh at its double burden. Soon beast and riders alike are swallowed up by the forest.

[Ovor(#20753)]      After a few moments Ovor, mumbling something into his beard, moves back towards his tent after bowing his head slightly to both Frarin and to Thari. No doubt to resume the sleep that was interupted.

[Frarin] As Frarin is lifted and maneuvered towards the awaiting waggon, he bears a look neither of anger or indignant pride. Rather, he seems determined and resigned, but also a touch sad. His good arm rises and points at Thari. \"I will not be a fool,\" he grumbles, \"but I have yet an oath to fulfil. If the host comes to Bree, I will not flee.\" That stubborn comment done with, he takes a moment to heave a shallow sigh. And then he points again at Thari and this time his voice is kinder, sad but also tinged by just a hint of humour.

\"I expect to see you again,\" he says, a statement. \"Trust to our kin and have also faith in these strangers of the north, they are of good heart, I deem. But trust most to yourself. And I shall do the same, Thari Balur\'s child.\"

Thari smiles as Frarin speaks, a sad but true smile, and climbs into the bed of the waggon to settle him there. The rain on the canvas roof is noisy as the healer pulls a thin pillow over to tuck under the silversmith\'s head.

\"I will, Forli\'s son.\" Finally Thari looks to Frarin\'s face. \"If the host comes to Bree, then I will be dead, I think, and would think it wise for you to stand in defense at that point.\" The smile grows and tilts. \"But I won\'t die. I will see you again. You take care of yourself, for I\'ve an unfinished argument with you, haven\'t I? I\'d like to see it through.\" She half-laughs, tucks a blanket over him, then climbs off of the waggon again. It isn\'t long before the small caravan begins its slow journey toward Bree.