================================== Bree Time ==================================
Real time: Thu Jul 15 10:38:42 2004
Bree time: Early Morning 8:55 AM on Hevensday of Autumn - September 7,1432
Moon Phase: Waning Gibbous Moon
===============================================================================

Breelands Weather
The early morning autumn air is cool but pleasant around you. The sky above is a glorious pale blue.

Bree Market - South
This section of Bree is known locally as Market South. There are shops lining both sides of the road, selling a variety of wares and services. Here, at the southern end of Bree's Market two roads meet, one from the east and one from the north. The market is decorated with streamers and bunting, in bright primary colours, and there are even more stalls than normal, many with games and prizes to be won, all part of Bree's Autumn Festival. The market is rather noisy and filled with activity, as people buy, sell, trade or simply browse the goods available here. Along with the items for sale, different aromas from the foods being sold blend together to add another dimension to the market.


A snarl of loud though mostly cheerful voices swirls around the market this morning; not only is the weather all but perfect and the time right for shopping, there seems to be some manner of festival going on. Brightly strung ribbons flutter in a flirtatious breeze and the square seems more than normally crowded with booths.

A boy on the edge of manhood leans idly against one particular stall and watches as children and even the occasional adult try to throw stones into a jar. There is a faintly contemptuous look stamped on his thin face, and his brown eyes rove ceaselessly through the crowd - ever and again returning to the game. One hand runs absently up and down an obviously home-made sheath at his hip.


Among the shoppers in the market this day is a young woman, seeking... nothing in particular. She's pausing at this stall and that, questioning a vendor for a moment and then purchasing a bit of bread.


Toby's glance lands on a woman, perhaps a wee taller than normal but quite unremarkable otherwise, lands there and passes on. The errant breeze snatches at his curly hair and ruffles it before moving on to begin a busy dustdevil. The boy lets out a bored breath and shifts his back against the wall. But bored or not, he doesn't leave nor does he give off watching the surging shoppers. Mayhap he looks for someone.


The woman nibbles at her bread as she continues to peruse the offered wares, her steps bringing her gradually closer to where the boy leans and watches.


Among the random movement of people, it's hard to tell if one moves apurpose instead - and Toby is none too practiced at the art of spying, if it be called thus. But one woman among so many, what is she? His eyes pause on a man, somewhat larger than those about him and stay there for a time before moving on to another, similar figure. Always it is men the boy's gaze seeks for, and always those who are either taller or something scruffier than others.


The woman finishes her bite, and purchases another; this time a piece of fruit. She spends a long moment chatting with the fruitseller; idly discussing the weather, the harvest, and current events.


A child darts through the crowded square, screaming with laughter and bounces into (and off of) a certain woman who speaks to a fruit vendor. For a second, wide eyes stare upwards and then the child scrambles up and dashes off again. "I got you, I got you!"

The uncompromising lines of Toby's face relax a little at the sight, something that might almost be a laugh curving his lips. But only for a second; possibly it is beneath his manly dignity to laugh at children in the market.


The woman smiles down at the wee bouncer, though before the child is out of sight, her hand has casually moved to check her pocket. Satisfied, she goes back to talking with the fruitseller.


The fruitseller is busy talking to some lady, the pile of apples temptingly near... Toby eyes them thoughtfully, allowing his vigilant watch over the market to lapse for a moment or two. He shifts his weight again and yawns, a bored lad... but his feet are now a little closer to the booth than before.


The two women continue to chat; something about the price of butter and the varying quality offered at different vendors' stalls.


A casual glance at the crowd around; none pays attention to anything special when there are so very many people and sights, and certainly not to one boy who is doing nothing at all except waiting. Toby scuffs his bare toes in the dust. Someone (a man who glowers at everyone before him) strides past, pushing people out of his way as if they are blades of grass; and the boy's attention abruptly sharpens. He leans forward a little, head craned to watch, and then relaxes back against his post. Or perhaps it is the next post over.


The conversation at the fruitstall moves on to pipeweed, and which varieties the menfolk prefer.


From a dark corner a pair of grey eyes look about, quite interested in what happens at the market. But this Ranger remains hidden by the shadows, comfortably seated with his long legs crossed. The antics of the boy do not go unnoticed, but still the Ranger does nothing.


The apples are stacked by the edge of the counter, where the sunlight can fall full upon them and brighten their russet-streaked curves. Now, Toby doesn't even look at them, keeping his eyes fully on the passing crowd. But one hand slides out towards the pile - hidden mostly from the shopkeeper by the bulk of apples itself.


And then, in the middle of an apparently absorbing discussion of Old Toby, the young woman's hand reaches out with the speed of a striking snake, and she grabs the boy by the wrist. All this is out of the vendor's view, so when the woman turns her head to smile down at the boy, the fruitseller probably doesn't notice the drama of the situation.


"Ah, there you are," says the woman, as if she and the boy were old friends or perhaps even relatives. "Keeping yourself out of trouble, are you?"


A glare of pure hatred singes the air between the boy and this interfering meddling woman. But his wrist is held by immovable fingers and to twist loose would cause more furor. Notice. People looking and wondering and pointing. "I'm fine," Toby grits between clenched teeth. "Thank you. Let go of me!" he hisses in an undertone. His other hand has never left the dagger sheath, and now it circles the hilt so tightly the boy's knuckles are white; but he is not quite so lost to reason as to draw it.


The woman's eyes flicker down toward the boy's knuckles on the sheath, and her smile grows a bit. "Don't even think about it," she drawls softly, for his ears alone. 'Thank you so much for the advice, good lady,' she cheerily says to the fruitseller, in normal tone. 'I'll be off now; but first let me buy one more of your delicious apples for my friend here. Introduce yourself,' she orders, with a slight squeeze on the captured wrist.


The shopkeeper turns cheerful eyes towards the glowering boy. "Oh," she says. "I know Toby. Doing a bit of work for old Barliman, aren't you know, lad? Tell yer pap I'll be over to see him one of these days, my man owes him yet for that chair he fixed." She chuckles softly and adds to Hanneth, "Boys that age, always going around with a grump agin' the world."

Toby mutters something under his breath, his scowl drawing thick eyebrows down flat. "I'll tell 'im," he adds ungraciously, and pulls testingly against the woman's hold.


The woman's hold is perhaps surprisingly firm, for all that it /looks/ loose. She grins at the fruitseller, nodding. "Aye," she agrees, all congeniality. "They's all t'same at that age, nah?" She pays for another apple with her free hand, and then offers the purchased fruit to the boy.


"Here ye go, young Toby," she smiles. "So tell me... how've ye been since I saw ye last?" With a nod to the fruitseller, she begins to walk away from the stall, still holding Toby though by the way she holds her arm, nobody else would see it.


Toby glares at the fruit as if he would spit on it, but hunger can over-rule injured feelings, and at last he lets loose of his knife to take the apple. It is gone, even to the core, in approximately 30 seconds - though the boy eats tidily enough, he does it swiftly - and his hand drops back to his hip. "Fine," he replies flatly, as he is dragged through the marketplace. Swift eyes note the positions of people, of stalls, of alley-ways... Toby relaxes abruptly, lengthening his stride a little so the woman no longer must pull to keep hold of his arm.


The Ranger's eyes have not left Toby and the woman who seems to be so fond of him. A grim smile forms on is rugged features. The boy seems to be fingering something in his pocket, and the Ranger turns a bit tense, the upper part of his body coming forward, ready to spring at a moment's notice. But he remains in the shadows, awaiting the woman's response to the young boy's actions.


The boy relaxes, perhaps; but though the woman has never looked particularly tense, her grip remains quite firm. And she's not heading toward any secluded spot, but rather toward a bench in plain sight of the market. Noting the rapid disappearance of the apple, she reaches into a pocket and offers the boy a hearty slice of venison jerky. "Tell me all about the latest news, Toby," she continues to chat, cheerily.


Though the sun has risen higher in the sky, and the market would be emptying on a usual day, on this one, it remains filled with noisy cheerful chatter. The day grows warm, smells of baking sweetbreads and frying meat and sun-baked fruit and unwashen humanity all mingle together.

Toby eyes the jerked meat and flexes the fingers that hold securely to his dagger uncertainly. A minute later, he reaches out to take it, in the same motion twisting his captive wrist up and in and pulling back full-force.


Hanneth pulls back, and her force is greater; the result is that not much changes, except that her grip tightens. "Why the hurry to leave, Toby?" Hanneth's voice is soft, and her tone sweet. "Or would you rather discuss what you were doing back at the fruitseller's cart?"


The Ranger lies back again, although his attentive eyes do not leave the boy and the woman who seem to be idly sitting on a bench. His grey eyes do not leave them, althogh that fact is covered for the Ranger wears a cowl which covers his head. His legs are no longer crossed, as he remains attentive to the boy and the woman.


If the prior glare were hate-filled, it was but a pale imitation of the one that Toby gives Hanneth now. He clamps his lips tightly shut, the small muscles in his jaw jumping erratically, and sits mutely on the bench beside his captor. If he has any notion he is being watched, he shows no sign of it.


Hanneth smiles, her manner (in all but her grip on Toby's wrist) visibly relaxing. "Ye know, young Toby, we seem t'have gotten off on the wrong footing. I mean ye no harm, but was jest tryin' t'keep ye from trouble. I've a brother who was good at getting into scrapes, and 'twas ne'er a pretty sight."


Henleg's sharp ears strain to catch some of the conversation, something impossible due to the hubbub in the market, where voices are raised selling and buying different things. His grey eyes take a quick look around, trying to assess any danger to the woman and the boy or any eavesdroppers on their conversation (besides him, of course). Failing to note anything of the like, his eyes fall back on the pair who sit on the bench.


"Yeah and who ever cared if a person got problems what isn't their fault?" Toby spits out angrily. "Yell an' point fingers and snub a body when nothing ever happened what was wrong. They deserve it, ever' one of them." There is fury in his eyes, a long-held sullen bitterness and resentment.


Hanneth shakes her head, sadly. "That good lady did none of them things, nah? And there ye were, about to rob her of her hard-earned wages." She sizes up the boy, and smiles. "Ye look a right strong and clever lad; why steal when ye can have the satisfaction of earning yer way?"


"She ain't none so good, she.. I didn't have no money." Toby abruptly clamps his mouth shut, darting a wary glance towards his interrogator. "What business is it of your'n anyways?" he asks sullenly. "I do be working, and why should I turn myself inside out toadying for other folk? Thinkin' they're so much better 'n us and all."


Hanneth shrugs one shoulder lightly. "Can't help it if I see m'brother's mistakes about t'be repeated. Do ye know what happen'd t'him, lad?" She shakes her head, and the sorrow there is plain to read. "Sure and ye don't want to come t'such an end?"


Scorn adds itself to the fury that flares in Toby's face. "Don't know 'im, do I?" he says insolently. "How should I know what happened to 'im?" Or care, hangs unspoken in the air between them.


"Nah, ye don't know 'im," Hanneth admits. "For if ye did, ye'd share my sorrow." The woman shifts in her seat, and perhaps the glimmer of a dagger flashes at her waist. "Ah, well. Tis no matter now, and no harm done this day. But mind, young Toby: I'll have my eye out for ye, and no mistake."

With that, she releases the boy's wrist, and settles her hands in her lap as though she were sitting in a parlour chatting with a dear old friend.


A striking rattlesnake might not beat Toby as the boy takes instant advantage of his opportunity and dives into the crowd. There is a slight disturbance around him as men and women attempt to avoid being cannoned into; and Toby makes for the nearest shadowed alley to disappear into.


Hanneth's eye follows Toby, and she sits there for a bit longer, chuckling to herself.