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Old 11-12-2003, 08:49 PM   #148
Hilde Bracegirdle
Relic of Wandering Days
 
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Sting

Gilly

“Mr. Kaldir says we’re to take the first watch and keep our ears open,” Gilly called to Benia as she went to the bags to unpack the cooking gear. She gave the dapple-grey wide berth out of respect for its teeth and the stallion in turn watched her carefully, bending his neck to better observe the hobbit’s activities near the fire with its large eye. “What are you so interested in horse? There is naught in here for you, and we can’t live on grass now can we? Really now, quit your staring, its not polite!” She had voiced the last bit a little louder more for Kaldir’s benefit rather than Miss Benia’s, though one might never know what sort of lessons Miss Benia might have missed growing up. She had always had seemed well mannered enough to the hobbit.

Taking her work over to the further side of the fire, she settled herself near Benia who sat combing out her tresses. “Mind you don’t get hair in the supper,” she admonished cheerfully, the promise of a hot meal buoying her spirits even though she puzzled over what she was to prepare with out benefit of water or choice of herbs.

“More food?” Benia said, and having deftly finished plaiting her hair, she threw the long thick ebony rope over her shoulder again, and watched the fire.

“Aye, more food and I could do with a cup of strong tea, but it seems that must wait for a time.” Gilly pulled her knife from the deep pocket of her pinafore and began peeling and cutting apples, letting the chunks fall into the vessel resting in her lap. Pausing suddenly she looked at her knife as if seeing it for the first time, and leaning sideways until she was midway to the ground, she peered around the fire holding her hand up to her eyes to shield them from its glare. There she could just make out the form of Kaldir, still propped against the bole of the tree, the soles of his boots splayed in a slack angle, eyes closed. Grabbing a flat stone she began rubbing first one edge and then the other of her knife against it. Looking again around the fire, she checked to see if Kaldir had moved.

“What is this you said about staring Gilly? It is rude, is it?” Benia said clutching the hobbit’s elbow with a worried expression.

“He’s sleeping,” Gilly whispered.

“He appears to be sleeping,” Benia quickly corrected her. “What are you doing?”

“Just sharpening my knife,” the hobbit explained. “It doesn’t want to cut though skins. It is not as sharp as yours.” Gilly looked passed the fire toward the bounty hunter as she spoke.

“Mine will not willingly cut though this skin either,” she declared, her voice barely audible. “It was his hand that drew blood not mine. How else would I still be alive?”

“Then he is a mad man,” Gilly said taking up another apple.

“Surely not mad, but something more troubling. As if he dwells beyond the far boundaries of pain somehow, like one who has died and yet lives through sheer will.”

Gilly kept working, as she struggled to grasp Benia’s meaning, but found it beyond her ken. “ I don’t know why any of us are alive,” she said finally. “All I know is that I want it to say that way, and if it means being a friend to a bounty hunter in the meanwhile, than that’s alright. Maybe he’ll think twice before carting you off to Harad and maybe I’ll live to see my children again. It’s all I can hope for. But he has treated us better than I would expect and I don’t think that he is so keen to pass you off or else he could have sold you to someone else in Bree at a lesser price letting them collect on your bounty, before pursuing this Naiore. Bree must be fairly crawling with black hearted foreigners and goodness knows we must be a millstone round his neck!” Gilly leaned forward to place the pot of apples and potatoes and dried meat in the embers and lifting a large stick she tapped the lid knocking some glowing coals on top. “Of course he might have some other plan for us that I can not guess, but it does not feel like an evil one.”

The two friends sat in silence before the fire.

“Gilly, I can’t see you as a friend to a bounty hunter. What would Carl think?” Benia said at last.

“Being a friend of one doesn’t mean becoming one yourself, does it? If that’s the case I think Carl will understand, though I’m not so sure about his mother.”

[ November 12, 2003: Message edited by: Hilde Bracegirdle ]
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