================================== Bree Time ==================================
Real time: Fri Aug 13 15:15:04 2004
Bree time: Late Night 3:45 AM on Highday of Winter - December 3,1432
Moon Phase: Full Moon
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Breelands Weather
The late night winter air is cold and dry around you. The sky is clear and the moon shines brightly.

Top of Bree Hill
It's deep night as you are standing on the summit of Bree Hill. The sky is starry and the lights of Bree can be seen twinkling below your feet. The only sounds you can hear is the roaring of the wind and the far away rustling of the leaves of Chetwood.


Wind, gentle but incessent, sweeps across the top of Bree Hill and ruffles the curly brown hair of a teenaged boy who sits, knees drawn to his chin, arms wrapped around his legs, on the grassy slope. The top of the hill bulks above him, rocky and treeless, and over all spreads a vast starry panorama. The western sky is streaked with gold and purple, but Toby's brown eyes stare at it unseeingly. His feet are bare still in the chill of evening, but he has a thick woolen coat wrapped around his upper body.


The hill is growing! Or worse, the grass-monster. No, no, wait, it's a man! On the very top of the Bree Hill, a figure in muddied green clothes now stand straight and high, the silvery stare fixed upon Toby. Naught he says.


Time passes. The sunset fades and the air grows colder, but Toby doesn't show any signs of moving; nor indeed does he seem to realize he is sharing his hilly retreat. At last, he shifts his position a little; one hand reaches down to fumble blindly through the folds of cloth. Light glints off the knife-blade as it is raised, and the boy begins to stab it at the dirt by his toes. Thunk. Thunk. Thunk. Over and over again, he thrusts the dagger into the earth and tugs it out again.


The watching Ranger kneels, grabs something from the floor and calls out then, without standing, just changing his position so that rising, perhaps even jumping, can be made quickly.
"Toby, Toby."


Toby's head comes up and in a whirl of movement, he is on his feet, the dagger pointed towards the voice: a creature at bay. It takes but a moment longer for him to recognize the crouched figure in the dim light, and he turns and flees down the hillside. His coat flaps wildly with each leap he takes.


The dagger's glint is captured by the keen eyes and suddenly, a hand goes forward, swiftly, and is open. From it comes a rock, flying quickly toward the weapon. Mean while, Alarth jumps from his spot, a falling a couple of feet forward. And striding fastly, he goes after the lad.
"Halt!" 'Tis a single word, not trully loud, though it seems to echo in the space, commanding and strong, different from the Ranger's usual voice and tone: It is like a limpid note of a horn, subtle and hard at the same time.
Much like the man's eyes.
Yet maybe it all is a trick of height and wind?


Something pings off the steel blade, tearing it from the boy's hand and sending it flying end over end in a spiral of glittering lightfall. Toby's head turns to follow the path of his most prized, really only prized, possession; and then the ranger's voice hits him like a hammer and his feet falter. It is like running through quicksand, or in a dream... it takes all Toby's strength to take even one step further away. Yet he tries, fear and desperation written across his freckled face.


As Toby stops, Alarth does not, still running toward the boy. And as his quick strides take him nigh the lad, a hand comes out, to catch Toby's shoulder. "What's the hurry? Ain't exchanging words with old friends no more?".


Fingers catch at his shoulder and Toby flinches. "You ain't no friend of mine," he snarls.


"I ain't no enemy either." Alarth's fingers increase the pressure briefly, ere loosing it a tad, "Now calm down.".


"Said you were gonna put me in jail," Toby says in a surly accusing voice. His eyes slide to the right, to the left, then return to a point mid-way up Alarth's chest.


"Told you already, boy: I ain't no Breeguard." the Ranger shakes his head, "Or d'you think I've a jail of my own?" he pauses just glaring at Toby, "No, Toby. It won't be me who'd put you in jail. But your very folk, if you keep all this non-sense. What's that whole mess about, in the pie contest?".


"Nothing!" Toby protests. "I didn't do nothing, 'cept run into that man on accident! The pies was there to be tasted, by anybody, I didn't steal none of 'em!" Something about the ranger's gaze draws his eyes inexorably upward, only to shy away again.


"Couldn't you have just voted, as everybody who was tasting the pies was doing?" Alarth asks, without taking his eyes from Toby, aftering having nodded, "If it was so, I doubt you'd have had to run into the old man.".


Toby ducks his head. "Thought you was..." he mumbles, pauses, then says more clearly. "Hadn't tasted 'em all anyhows." The stars hang low overhead in the purple-black windswept sky, and warmth from Alarth's fingers slowly seeps through the thick coat.


Fingers those that, slowly, loose the pressure more and more, till it's close to a friendly gesture, "You know, most things can be sorted out with a couple of words, when you talk with people of good will.".
He pauses for a bit, thinking, "Tell me, Toby, what d'you do well? Like, some talent or hability that almost seems to be a gift. For instance, Elias cooks and has knack for seeing if someone's honest or no. And you?"


Trust is hard and Toby has learned in a hard school. Whatever fragment of confidence he had had in this man is small and very fragile, and the threat of jail had almost shattered it. Still something about the ranger draws words from him almost against his will. "Dunno," he says sullenly. "Stayed alive though, all summer. If'n that means talent. Fiddle sometimes." Alarth's hold loosens and Toby shifts his weight, but doesn't try to pull away... yet.


The Ranger doesn't take the hand from Toby's shoulder, simply diminishing the grip's strength gradually,
"Fiddle, really?" the Ranger raises his eyebrows seemingly pleasantly surprised, "Why only sometimes, tho'?".


Toby shrugs, staring at the almost invisible ground. Unseen, he digs a hole in the dirt with one bare toe. "It broke."


"Oh, that's too bad.".
Again the Ranger falls silent, a thoughtful expression briefly taking his face, "And what d'you like, Toby? Some people like food, others like sculptures, pipes, boots, many things. I'm sure you must like something, dream of having or doing something special?".


The words come no easier, but they still come; and the boy is yet standing there - not a fleeing shadow. "Liked fiddling," he says and almost there is a hint of wistfulness in his tone. "Horses too. Why?" Suspicion returns to the eyes that glimmer darkly in the night, and raise again to fix fleetingly on the ranger's face.


"I see." the Ranger nods, going on apparently unware of Toby's question, "Now, here's what makes me trully curious... why d'you hang about with that Thorne fella?".


Susicion and wariness return full force. Toby stiffens, darting a glance to the side. "Thorn who?" he asks and immediately upon its heels, says defiantly, "I don't."


"Don't you?" the Ranger seeks the lad's gaze, "Well, I'd keep an eye out for him, if I were you. Your sister seem to like him.".


An unwilling gaze rises slowly to meet Alarth's. Opposing impulses fight a battle across the boy's face and in the end he remains mute.


"I remember you told me about that two blokes, one Tathar killed, the other that fled." the Ranger continues, "She told me this Thorn helped you two in the wild or something? Well, I've heard he's no good, a tricky fella. That makes me think... perhaps he's involved with this.".


The boy's head shakes minutely, No. And the internal struggle goes on. Finally, a low voice joins the whispering roar of the wind to add weight to his negative. "He wasn't. He'd not hurt her."


Alarth's eyes widen, but the surprise in his expression does not reach his eyes, "Oh, wouldn't he? I thought... you didn't know him?".


Toby's head bends as if before a strong wind and his fingers clench, the knuckles dead-white from the pressure. "Met him," he admits. "S'truth.. he'd not hurt her. He's good to her. I..." he hesitates, struggling with the burden of loyalties. "Told him, once, t'leave her alone, but..." Again a pause, and this one stretches out into the night.


"But what?" the Ranger asks, raising his eyebrows slightly.


A faint tide of red darkens Toby's face and he draws in a deep breath. "Nuthin'. He won't hurt her, I know he ain't always nice but he won't hurt her." He dares a glance at Alarth's face to see if he is believed and adds, "He did come help us, she told you true."


"Ah." Alarth nods, "Well, it's just that, wasn't timely his arrival? She speaks of him with adoration. I wonder if perhaps 'twasn't his objective to hire that thugs to harm you two and then pose as hero.".


Again Toby shakes his head. "No," he says positively. "You ain't seen it. I done. He was mad like you can't fake and he paid.. " His face whitens and he ducks his head again.


"I believe you, then." the Ranger nods, "Though what did he pay?".


Another long moment of silence as Toby fights with himself. Remembered anger and humiliation limn the tight muscles of his bowed neck. "Wasn't coming back," he mutters at last. "Was gonna go south, only..." he lifts his head in a desperate sort of misery. "She wouldn't go home by herself, said she wouldn't let me be out there by m'self. But.. it weren't safe. I tried, I did, but I couldn't keep her safe; and she's even better 'n me with a knife. Thorn paid off the money for me, and I said I'd come home 'cause she don't like it out there. So I owe him, y'see." The whole story, more or less, spills out at last; but his last words are filled with anger and burgeoning hatred. "Only they all stare at her and whisper stuff and make her cry."


"Tell you what, Toby." the Ranger starts, after a long silence that followed the lad's speech, "Take care with what Thorne says, don't listen to him. If he tries to hurt you, tell me. I'll figure out a way for you to pay him, alright?".
Grey eyes seek their brown equals in the boy's face.


Pinned for a time by that intent silver gaze, Toby stares hypnotized into Alarth's face. Then he drags his gaze away. "I'm paying him!" he says defensively, then wilts a little. "He ain't made me do nothing." It is as close to a confession as any he is likely to give. "Ain't hurt me none, neither. Not nothing to speak of."


"Alright then." Alarth nods, finally taking his hand off Toby's shoulder, "Good luck with that, then, and take care. I need to go now.". Without further words, the Ranger strides past Toby, downwards.


Released, Toby stares after Alarth as if in a daze, then shakes himself and turns to scrabble on the dark ground for his fallen knife.