[littlemanpoet]

Falowik brooded in the shadow of Fornost. So far everyone had kept their thoughts to themselves about the incident of two days past, except for a curt remark from Falco. Toward noon that day, they had come upon the place where Falowik had witnessed Eodwine's capture. Only, there was no sign of anyone's passage: no hoof marks, no blood on the rock, no sign of dirt displaced where the satchel had been thrown, not even his own footprints. It was as if the event had been erased from the record of time.

Falowik could imagine what they were thinking. It would be some version of what Falco had said at the time: No evidence nowhere for what the wanderer says he saw. Falowik had said nothing to defend himself, save what was obvious to him: The blood and hoof marks are gone, yes, but this is where it happened. He had re-enacted it for them, showing his hiding place, the bloodstained stone, the place where he had found the satchel, the path they had taken north, and where Eodwine had been when he had seen Falowik.

The rest of the party had been silent, except for Eswen cooing to the wolf pup who scrabbled and whined in her arms, its nose wriggling to a cacophony of odors to be explored, no doubt. Even Uien had looked into Falowik's eyes, searchingly for a moment, then hers crystallized with the certainty of his honor, which never ceased to amaze him. Her words were clear: If they have left no trail to follow, we shall have to find a fresh one farther north.

Thoronmir had consented to this. With a raised brow he eyed Falowik with a measuring gaze, then clasped his sword hilt with the opposite hand, pulled it up part way and shoved it home as if to drive home his decision. Whether it is as Falowik says or not, too many good men have gone missing or worse in recent times, and since we're this far, we should do what we can to find them or discover why they've gone missing. He had mounted his horse and led them onward.

It had been by no means a vote of confidence, but it had been the best Thoronmir could have done to rally the group if he doubted Falowik. As they moved out, the raven, Corn, had lifted from Lira's shoulder into the air and glided to the rock Falowik had pointed to as the one formerly bearing the bloodstains. With one clawed foot, Corn scratched three times at the very spot where the blood had been. Then he had cawed raucously, and flown high in the air, circling once, then he had flown north before them for half an hour; then he returned to Lira's shoulder.

Falowik had said nothing about the raven's actions. Though Corn seemed to be saying Falowik spoke soothly, others in the party might say that it was at best chancy to base one's hopes on the strange actions of a bird. The Elves among them might set more store by it, but not all in the party were keen on Elves. Falowik knew that he would have to let events prove his story, and he would have to bear the weight of their doubt in the meantime.

Falowik noticed Gorby out of the corner of his eye, gazing at him carefully in between scratches with a pen on a parchment. Falowik shuffled his feet self-consciously. The lawmen of Bree had been known to draw the likeness of a thief or murderer to go along with a reward bounty. Falowik wondered if Falco had put Gorby up to it. He overheard Anson, and Lumiel, saying that the likeness was good. Falowik sighed. They'd have their "wanted" poster if they sought to accuse him of an evil plan to get them lost and killed in the wild. If they wished it, so must it be. Falowik felt his gut harden with the old resentments spawned from wrongful accusation. His spirit had been sinking already, traveling into the trackless, unfriendly waste. Now his jaw tightened into a set frown and his eyes became icey. His posture became more angular, and when he looked one way or another, his head jerked quickly from side to side. Once he even startled Corn from Eswen's shoulder.

Uien watched him, and there was compassion and sympathy in her gaze, but even her solicitude turned to ashes for him, for it occurred to him that all the good that came from her was born from what she was determined to be rather than from an exchange of love between them. Falowik suspected that, at bottom, he was an object of charity by which she was giving meaning to her life. He did not want that, and found himself sickened by it the more he thought of it. The next time she touched him, he stiffened - and kept his eyes locked ahead of him, and he felt her hand slip away; it was like a cold stone door had been shut between them, and he had been the one doing the closing. But it was as it had to be, for it was the way things really were: harsh, cold, bitter, empty, and ruined; like the wilderness all around them, and like this old, old tower. Such was his life; these last few weeks with Uien had been a dream. He was glad to have woken from it.

Now he was waiting for the brewing storm to strike. One of the doubters would finally fail to hold back their thoughts, and would unleash a tirade against him; probably Falco. Falowik would welcome it; at least things would be in the open then.

[ November 21, 2003: Message edited by: littlemanpoet ]