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Crabannan held his tongue as Hilderinc headed off to check the unloading of the wains, but he had a healthy variety of belligerent remarks which he would have loved to call after the man. He turned to Lithor.
"You realize we're going to be asked to help if we hang around here?"
Lithor grinned. "The thought had occurred to me, yes."
"Of course," Crabannan continued, "You and Wilcred here are somewhat obligated, being vassals of Rohan, but I, on the other hand - I'm not even supposed to be here. I could leave right now."
"Face the facts, Crabannan. You're happy here. You'll never leave," said Wilcred, who had finally begun to cool down, though he was still following Hilderinc with his eyes.
Crabannan fell silent. You might be right, Wilcred. You might be right. The same notion had been growing on his mind recently. Why had he never left? Crabannan knew himself to be a wanderer by nature, shiftless, always trying to stay a step ahead of his past. If he stayed anywhere too long, all the dark things he had done would catch up with him he felt. And yet he stayed on in Rohan - despite the fact that everywhere he looked, he saw familiar faces from the War, faces he deserted. Did they remember him? He hoped not. And desertion wasn't the worst of his crimes...
"Well, here I am," Crabannan said. "I have nothing against helping my friends - but if this new eorl, whats-his-title, tries to give me any responsibilities, Horse and I will be on our swift way. Let's see what can be done."
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