|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
 Posted: Thu Jan 10, 2013 7:53 pm
Breu in town to trade for supplies and Lee stayed behind; when it came to negotiations with people, she tended to bomb. Worse than that, she tended to haul him down with him, the result being that they ended up short on supplies, with nasty looks turned down their noses. Not worth the effort. Not when they rather desperately needed the basics, needed salt, needed fresh flint and steel. And a bit of sugar wouldn't go amiss.
It means that she was alone, at their camp, not too far from the boundaries of town, when she heard the strange sound. Not in the process of hunting down prey, she was settled instead near a fire, bow at her left foot, beans cooking down -- and it meant that she rose slowly to stand and approach it, soft boots silent against the snow.
It was coming from the direction of the trapping she'd done recently, but it sounded neither like the rabbits she'd been hoping to catch, nor the bears and wildlife that sometimes tumbled into her snares. She paused, quiet, not too far away, to listen, and squint through the branches to see what she could make out.
|
 |
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Posted: Thu Jan 10, 2013 10:31 pm
Charles had come to these woods to hunt, dressed lightly in furs to keep warm against the cold. With all the rumors spreading around town, he had been reluctant to fair the dark recesses of the trees and what could lurk beyond them. But there was only so much one could catch at the edge of the woods in winter. He had to go in deeper. If not for him, for his family and Echo. He could feel that she was flighty and nervous and when they got to the treeline, she bolted. He was right behind her but she was easily lost and this was how he ended up in his predicament. Captured in someone's snare. It took ever fiber of his being not to panic as he struggled to break free of them. He grunted and squirmed, reaching for his knife to cut him loose to no avail. He gave up to try to think things through. Echo would be back, she wasn't too far to begin with, or the hunter who set this snare would happen upon him... Eventually. Not a comforting thought.
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Posted: Fri Jan 11, 2013 1:09 pm
Wise for Echo to run, because Lee and Breu often hunted the deer in these woods -- the normal deer, the one with vacant eyes and twitchy ears, the ones that turned and bounded through the snow. It was late, now, for them to be out and about, and she likely would have jumped at the sight of anything in the woods, too excited to realize that its markings were strange, unusual...
Instead, she moved almost silently round behind the snare, bow in hand, and as she made out the faintly human shape attached to her snare through the branches and leaves, she drew the string back with an arrow notched.
Her voice was low, quiet, dangerous, and so heavily accented that he'd likely have a hard time understanding her. "Ye poachin lad? Poachin m'livelihood?"
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Posted: Wed Jan 16, 2013 3:47 am
Charles froze at the rustling, hoping that it wasn't an animal coming after him. He was slightly glad when a someone came into view, though it was hard to tell. The creature emerged into the clearing spouting nonsense. That mane of bright hair caught his eyes first. Her wild appearance caught him off guard. It was intriguing and lovely the way the feathers decorated her hair. He couldn't help but stare.
He almost forgot the predicament he was in. "Oh!" He looked her over for a moment. "Did you set this snare?" It was excellent work he must admit. "I'm not here to poach." He assumed that's what she said under her heavy accent. "I have to make a living just like anyone else." He laughed, face flushed from the cold and embarrassment and he struggled to free himself.
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Posted: Sun Jan 20, 2013 9:59 am
Laoise was likely to look like a crazy wildling, to Charles's eyes: bright-haired and bright-eye, layered in leathers and furs enough to, largely, obscure her shape. Uncured pelts hung off her belt, quiver over a shoulder. This was not how women dressed, in Sunderland. To be fair, it also wasn't how they dressed in Albyr, but...
"Ah, but I ask if ye're poachin' as ye sit in my trap." She was still on guard but she moved slowly, shouldering her bow and sinking down into an easy crouch beside him. He was lucky: caught on his pants and around his ankle, instead of through it. A trap for rabbits or foxes, not for bears.
"Had it bin a bear trap, the foot'd be gone, lad." A tip of her head to squint at his face, to take him in. There was paint across her cheeks, blue and green, old and faded. She stripped off her gloves slowly, but didn't set him free, not just yet.
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Reply
