[Groin Redbeard]

A hundred arms of the trees were gray and its million fingers silver. In a sky of dark green blue like slate, the stars were bleak and brilliant like splintered ice. All the area around the thickly wooded and sparsely tenanted marsh was stiff with a bitter and brilliant frost. It was a queer morning for anyone to go exploring along the Scar, but on the other hand, perhaps it was worth being explored in the bleak, frozen, early morning.

There was a part in the Scar that rose abruptly out of a broad circle of trees near the end of the marsh, covered in a hump or shoulder of green moss. In this freezing darkness of early winter, one would think that these rocks and trees would be left alone under nobody’s gaze but the ever watching stars. Nevertheless, in the stillness of the stiff air, if one listened carefully, a horse snorted and thumped along its way as one dim rider, dressed heavily for the weather, rode to the glade of trees. In that faint, fading, starlight, nothing could be detected of the man save the noise of the horse.

The rider slowly dismounted and tied the horse’s reigns to a branch. The hunter (for it was obvious that he was one) stealthily crawled upward on his belly across the freezing rocks out into the fading moonlight and the rising dawn, he was in the open and on a clear day he could see for miles. The hunter (not his usual profession, but his for the moment) would often come here in the morning or evening and sit for the better part of an hour, just sitting, waiting, and hoping for the site of some sort of quarry to hunt. The hunter tucked himself behind a boulder and began to scan the horizon and listen.

As you might have guessed, this hunter was none other than Erbrand the leather craftsman. It was the early hours of the morning (in fact it was still dark) and he was doing what he would usually do in the morning, but today there was a special purpose for him coming out here. A few days ago, patiently awaiting the arrival of some game, Erbrand spotted a peculiar footprint in the thawing earth just after sunrise. He knew it not to be his and it so puzzled him that he determined to come to the same spot every day, whether in the morning or evening until his curiosity had been satisfied. Many mornings had passed with nothing to report (not even a single animal to hunt) and today he sat thinking as he always did at this time of day.

The Lord Eodwine had departed early in the month. Sleep was uneasy for him as well as for most of Scarburg—work began early every day. Half of an hour crept past without sight or sound of anything; it gave him time to contemplate on the situation at the Hall. Lady Saeryn was certainly something, he chuckled to himself. She had always seemed gentle when Erbrand knew her as plain ol’ Saeryn, but now she was harder, or more experienced, but whatever it was she had changed. What a remarkable month with the nobles coming and all! Erbrand clenched his fist at the thought of the meeting. He certainly would have liked to have shown them a thing or two about respect, but he was just mere peasantry himself. Trying to show his superiors anything outside of his profession would also have been disrespect, what a fool he would look then! If Lithor were here he would have a thing or two to say, but Lithor had left, he was all alone; well, not entirely. Kara had been exceptionally moody this morning, not at him (Erbrand was careful to stay out of trouble when possible) but in general. Erbrand blamed it on the sudden departure of Lady Saeryn to Edoras. Speaking of departure, it must be near six o’clock and no quarry to speak of—time to head back to the hall and get some work done.

Erbrand slid back down the rocks with nimble care and walked back through the trees to Traveler. Walking beneath the half frozen leaves in the darkness Erbrand heard a rustling. It was similar to the sound of a surprised deer, the way they jump and shift their position a little; Erbrand instinctively dropped to one knee and put a hand inside his quiver, but checked himself: two audible footsteps and then silence. The craftsman’s heart started to race—someone, not something, was there and did not want to be seen. Again out of instinct, Erbrand slid behind a thick ash tree and listened. There was a loud thumping: Traveler digging the grass, impatient to return to a warm stable. Erbrand closed his eyes and strained his ears once again—footsteps to his right. As quietly as possible, he unfastened his quiver, leaned his bow against the tree, and stealthily took off in the direction of the noise. The trees were close together so that Erbrand could see nothing of the stalker, the darkness making each tree look like a frozen phantom. Whoever is here is not trying to run for it! Is he after me? Possibly my horse…

Suddenly, Erbrand felt his legs hit something hard; down he fell on the cold earth. Dirt was smudged on his face as he tried to get up, but a heavy blow on his back brought him face down again. Fight the pain. Don’t let him strike you again! Erbrand rolled face up and saw a man standing over him with a staff raised to strike another blow. Quicker than thought, the craftsman rolled out of the man’s aim and brought himself to his knees. Erbrand gasped for air (the wind had been knocked out of him from his fall and first blow) but he had enough wit to reach into his belt and draw what weapon he had. The moonlight flashed on the cold steel of a very broad hunting knife and the stranger checked his rush. Erbrand held the knife by the blade, ready to throw it, he had done it often enough. The stranger’s eyes lit up with fear for a moment, but soon regained their focus and the two slowly began to circle one another

From what Erbrand could tell in the dark, the stranger was much younger than he was; the man didn’t look much older than eighteen. He was remarkably tall, a full head taller than Erbrand (but it could have been the darkness that made him look large). He was dressed in hazelnut colored clothes and grew his blonde hair long over his shoulders. Erbrand sized the young man up, flipped the knife over in his hand, and rushed at him.

“Back off!” The young man barked as he swung and scored another blow in Erbrand’s side. He leaned over and coughed, it felt as if his ribs had cracked. Erbrand heard the man coming at him and blindly made two swift strokes, notching the man’s staff on the second swing. Finally, they were close enough to grapple each other. The young man howled with pain as the hunter’s fist went to work. With the knife in one hand, Erbrand had hand free to beat heavy blows on the boy, but the boy was busy trying to keep the knife from plunging downward, holding the staff with both his hands. Erbrand kicked hard and withdrew. The stranger drew back leaning on his staff, his face cut and bleeding slightly—he looked beaten. They stood staring at each other for a long time not saying anything, breathing hard.

“Are you alright?” Erbrand asked still breathless. The man did not answer.

“You’ve been watching Scarburg for a long time haven’t you? You are the one who I encountered nearly three months ago in the marsh, remember?” The stranger looked up, still leaning on his staff—an invisible face in the dark.

“Are you alone?” Erbrand walked closer seeing the man lean heavily on his staff. “Come, I can help you back at the Hall. My lady will have questions…”

Instead of a gentle compliance with his wishes, Erbrand felt the end of the staff strike his head. There was a loud crack! Blood filled Erbrand’s mouth as he hit the ground in a dizzying spin. The pain throbbed through his head. He rolled over, hands empty, his eyes closed in expectation of another blow…but the blow never came. Instead when Erbrand opened his eyes there was nobody standing over him or anywhere for that matter. His knife was lying untouched a few feet away along with the boy’s now broken staff. Thank my lucky stars! He looked at the broken staff and felt his head. Good, no bleeding, and nothing is broken. My head is going to be the size of a watermelon by noontime. Ow!b Erbrand didn't feel like getting up, but he did, slowly, his sides aching from the bruises. He leaned down to pick up his knife, swore, and keeled over in pain.

“Confound that boy!” Erbrand raised himself up again and felt his head swim. The sun became fuller and it occurred to Erbrand that he better get back to the Hall. The air was stinging his face with the cold and he was shivering. Erbrand stumbled from tree to tree until he reached Traveler. Mounting his steed, a new surge of pain rocked his frame and he sunk yet again.

“Come on old boy,” he said wincing, “take me home.”

Each step bounced Erbrand, he was in constant pain. His head did not hurt as much anymore, he felt it again. The staff must have cracked in the spot where he had notched it. However, it still felt like one of his ribs was broken. The camp was now visible. Erbrand squinted through the pain and saw someone was coming towards him. One of the children? No. Dan! He hailed him and dismounted slowly.

"I'm glad to see you of all people," Erbrand said slowly, leaning in pain.