The golden-tinged leaves of autumn rested in piles scattered around the central square of Combe, covering up the reddish-brown cobblestone with warm and earthy tones. Whenever the wind came and scraped across the top of the leafy surface, a few pieces of foliage were torn along and lost to the breeze, riding the gust out and settling in the little creases and folds of the clothes that the lumbering townsfolk were wearing. Here and there, children could be seen laughing uproariously as they pushed each other and jumped into the bigger piles of foliage, scurrying away whenever they were caught by the wives and daughters that did the raking.
Somewhere along the path to the kennels, right next to the muddy banks of the small lake adjacent to it, a group of children took turns wrestling each other into the grass and leaves. Their clothes were muddied and dirty, as were most of their faces, but the roaring peals of laughter carried over by the wind showed that their fighting was all in good cheer.
A boy among them, scarce more than twelve, with tousled brown hair and brown eyes that made him unmistakably Bree-ish, clambered up on the nearest rock and struck a heroic pose.
"Listen up you lo'!" He roared over the din of the remaining children, sounding confident and triumphant, a huge grin on his face, "Since I've won most of the marbles from the winner, I get to be the King o' Bree for the day!"
"Boo! No fair!" Was cried, the rest of the children groaning collectively, "Tha's only because you get to lurk around Master Statler's forge an' help! Boo!
The boy found himself tackled to the floor by two others, and down he went with a booming laugh, "No no no, I won fair an' square -- stop!" He shrieked, and suddenly the marbles he had collected were pried from his hand.
"Fine. Don't be greedy with 'em!" He said with a grumpy fold of his arms, watching as the children gleefully began to distribute the marbles amongst themselves. He sat up and leaned against the rock, debating how to best devise a plan to steal back the marbles again, when a sniff and a tug on his sleeve made him turn his head.
A russet-haired girl barely older than five was kneeling next to him, an arm over her eyes, tears running down her cheeks. Her olive-coloured dress was just as muddied as his own clothes, but she had small scrapes on her knees and bruises. The boy frowned and tilted his head.
"Hilda?" He asked unsteadily, patting the girl's shoulder, "What's wrong? Why're you crying?"
The girl took a few moments to bawl, the other children too busy arguing amongst themselves to pay her heed, before answering with a quivering lip, "My... my bear!"
"What's wrong with your bear?"
"They took it from me!" The girl wailed.
The boy frowned, "What? Who took it from you?" He looked up and began eyeing the other children.
The girl pointed towards a trio of bickering boys who were roughly the other boy's age, "Those! The Rosebranch boys! I jus' wanted to play with the marbles and put Mr. Snuffles next to the tree, but then he was gone... where's Ma and Da?" She sniffed.
"I don' know, Hilda." The boy said quietly. He eyed the Rosebranch triplets, in particular the smaller one holding a small, brown teddy bear with mismatched green and pink buttons for eyes, and looked back at the girl, offering her a smile, "Don' worry, I'll get your bear, but don't tell Finn, Ma, or Da, okay?"
The girl nodded meekly and the boy stood up, pleased. Ma was going to have him wash the dishes for a week if he was caught, but he swallowed his unease and walked over to the Rosebranches, picking up a fallen marble and tossing it at the smallest. The Rosebranches were a trio he often argued and bickered with, but the smallest had always been the craftiest rascal among them all.
"Hey!" He shouted, "That's my sister's bear, give it back!"
The smallest boy winced, having been struck in the back of the head, and turned around, scowling. The other two followed suit, eyeing the boy with disdainful expressions. "So what?" One of them called, "We found it first!"
The boy growled, "No it's not! Give it back! Back right now!" And without thinking any further, he surged forward into the smallest and barrelled into his chest, small fists punching at the smallest's ribcage. He could hear yelling and his fear replaced by the eagerness to prove himself, kicking out at anything that came near to him, but soon enough he found himself being lifted off the smallest and pinned to the ground. A blow fell upon his cheek and he cried out, snarling and biting at his attacker's - the largest - shoulder.
"Stop!" Someone was yelling. There was hushed whispering and crying in the background, "STOP IT NOW!"
The boy couldn't make sense of his surroundings. His chest was now pinned by a pair of knees, limbs flailing about like a wild animal. He could see Hilda hiding behind the rock and crying, and the smaller brother being comforted by the middle one, hauled away from the thick of the fighting. The rest of the children had scattered or settled to watch the brawl. The largest was still on top of him landing clumsy but forceful blows on his shoulders and cheeks, yelling him down for hurting the smallest. He could see an arm rising above them both and --
"WHAT is going on here?!" An older voice boomed. A pair of hands split the brawling boys apart and he could see that his mother had shoved herself in between them both, her face flushed red with anger. She was wearing a simple dress of grey and a weathered brown cloak across her shoulders, with brown hair tied up into a bun. Behind her was a discarded basket of apples - she must have thrown it in her haste to stop the fight.
"No fighting!" The boy's mother said sternly. "Don't you have all have chores to do at home?! Shoo now and off to your mothers and fathers before I tell them! Hilda, stay here, and YOU as well!"
She pointed a finger at the boy and he sank to the ground with a stubborn frown, fuming. The rest of the children, Rosebranches and all, scattered back towards the village square, the smallest of the triplets dropping the bear to the ground and kicking it towards Hilda.
"Now, Hilda." The mother said, voice softening as she knelt and looked upon her daughter's tear-stained face, "What happened here?"
"The Rosebranch triplets took my b-bear..." Hilda sniffed. She picked it up and noticed a button was missing, "Ford tried to take it back but now they're both hurt!" She squeezed the bear and cried.
"Oh Ford, you shouldn't be fighting like this..." The mother said with a sigh, turning to face her son, who was now wallowing in shame at her disappointed, weary words, "You know Papa will be mad again..."
A loud rumble of thunder made Ford open his eyes.
A dream?
He was in his room and sitting at his desk. Dazed, he sat up and looked down at the wooden surface to find that he had fallen asleep in the middle of writing another set of personal thoughts - there was a small smudge at the corner of the parchment, an indication that he had let the ink from his quill blot and spread onto the paper. Rain was pouring in steady amounts down his window pane, and, looking outside, he could see the occasional flashes of lightning and hear the low rumble of the thunder accompanying it.
It wasn't the first dream of family the man had. Ever since arriving in Bree, Ford had found that the amount of dreams that he had about his siblings, his parents, and Ellie and Hudd had increased tenfold. He concluded that the frequency of such dreams was because he missed them all terribly, but it was the first time in many years since he'd had a dream that went so far back into his childhood. He stood up and walked towards his bookshelf, eyes poring over the various titles in keen search of the old keepsake.
Were they all pleasant dreams? Sometimes, but they were also dreams that he often dreaded, as they also reminded him of the things he had lost in Combe, and the family that still wondered why he refused to return. Hilda would be fifteen winters by now, and last that he heard, she had taken up a job as a seamstress' apprentice at the local crafting hall. Finn, his older brother and the oldest of the family, remained cordial with him, but in the letters they exchanged he could tell that there was confusion and mild resentment.
His calloused hands came across a small box sat on top of the shelf and he reached to pull it down, sifting through years of memories - old shoes, a wooden toy soldier, an old satchel containing a bag of marbles - until he happened upon the old bear, Hilda's bear, resting underneath a moth-eaten hankerchief inscribed with the initials 'M.S'. He gingerly took out the bear and the hankerchief and set the box back upon the shelf.
His heart stung to see it. The bear was the only keepsake of Hilda's he had left, given to him by her on the eve of his departure from home. It still had one button missing, and time had frayed the cloth around the edges, but it was still the very same bear he'd fought the Rosebranch triplets for nine years ago.
Ford smiled. He walked back to his desk and placed the bear on the window sill, draping it in the hankerchief and leaving it to rest against the water-stained glass.
