Making her way through the darkness around the outskirts of Combe wasn't what she wanted to be doing that night. Clara Briarwool wanted to be in bed. She'd earned her rest. But circumstances did not agree, and she couldn't really argue with her mayor, even if it was of a township of only a dozen or so. Carria was the one who made Rhody safe, and was putting some belief into her, besides. And she'd justified the claim on the busker's time. But she still didn't have to like it.
Nonetheless, she was here, outside the house her uncle Wes had built, which was currently just the home of his three sons. She tied True up to a tree with enough lead to keep her happy with browse, and got up closer to the building – and wrinkled her nose. It was starting to reek, and the outside hadn't been trimmed of foliage in a year. Her aunt Dahlia would have an absolute fit if she knew.
After a shake and some shallow breaths to acclimate to the smell, she eased closer. She knew that door liked to squeak, or at least it used to, but she also knew that it was because it didn't really fit the frame quite right. Not only did she lift the latch, but she braced herself and lifted the door itself as much as she could by its handle before easing it open a crack. She waited, and heard no disturbance in the snoring within. Three snorers. Well, that was as expected, and mostly good. At least that sneaky little jerk Bramble-the-rude hadn't woken up yet. Unfortunately, peering within showed that he was still in the trundle-bed, and thus all too close to Framsel, who was her target.
She hadn't come all this way and to this trouble to give up now, though. She pulled some pebbles out of her pouch. She'd selected them earlier, back in Everslade by the river-bed, expecting she might need them. She eased the door open a little more, careful to block what little light that might admit with her body. It wasn't perfect, but it kept any of it from hitting Bram, and that was the point. It also kept her from having to see what mess they'd made of the place. She was almost regretting not being prepared to burn it down when she left, given the state it was in.
She shook her head, telling herself to focus on the task at hand. One pebble toss, then another, landing on Framsel's shoulders. Not too bad, she thought, considering the circumstances. It wasn't enough, though. Three more, then, in more rapid succession.
That almost worked, but he shifted position even as his snores lessened and he seemed near to waking. She had to wait for him to settle again before her next few tosses, one of which bounced up along his cheek.
With that, he finally blinked awake, swatting at what he probably thought was a bug. He grumbled slightly to himself when he saw that the door was ajar, and got up, slipping into his boots without fastening them. When he got halfway to her, she moved just enough to let some light from the town hit her face, and held her finger up to her lips in a silent shushing motion.
Framsel blinked in surprise, with a sudden intake of breath, but her note from earlier had him ready to work with her. He hadn't expected her until properly in the morning, and in the Pony, but she was only beckoning him with her finger now, and not being at all threatening. He let his breath out in some approximation to a snore rather than any other noise he might have made, and grabbed for such of his other belongings as were in handy reach. That was actually most of them, since he didn't own much. His axes were by the door, anyway, so he grabbed those as well, making the usual noises he might if still half-asleep and just going outside to relieve himself, closing the door behind him.
Clara, of course, stayed out of his way once he was coming out of the door, and in particular moved aside so that, should either of the other boys awake, they'd see nothing too far out of the ordinary. She heard no meaningful shift in their snores, though she was still nervous and very much on edge. She impatiently, but silently, chivvied her cousin further from the house before letting him stop to fasten up his boots and over-shirt properly. While her nervousness was quite evident, she did just keep a fidgeting watch while he did, so he didn't make any complaint.
Finally, when back over by her horse, she explained to the lad, "There's been some sort of trouble, I don't get exactly what – but Carria says she needs every man she can get for defence of the town, just in case. And, well, I know you were trying to work with the constables, and we want to see you anyway. If you don't feel up to fighting, that's fair, since it's a surprise. But that's why I'm here now. You still game to go?"
The young man struggled with this a bit. She was speaking rather quietly, but quickly, and he was not as awake as he'd like. But he got it sorted in his head, and nodded slowly. She might always have been the much-maligned black sheep of the family, but she knew where Rhody was, and Belle, and apparently, from her earlier note, even their mum now. And while she'd said there might be trouble, she wasn't directly throwing him into it, and especially not unaware. It would have to do.
Besides, when he'd asked around before, Mister Butterbur had said she'd been out of trouble for at least a year, and apparently looking out for Belle's interests. Maybe she'd changed, or maybe she was never as bad as the family had made her out to be. He didn't know, but he nodded, and offered her a hand up into her saddle, then swung up behind her.
The older cousin worked with knee and bridle to get the mare moving again, not trusting to verbal cues this close to the house. She was still worried about waking Bramblerood, even with just this much noise. If they did, though, her brief look back showed no sign of it – and she didn't want to keep looking back, as that would be far too suspicious. Two people on a horse in the middle of the night was bad enough, but if they didn't keep looking back, it might pass for something almost normal. She reminded herself how often staying out of trouble was accomplished by just acting like you belonged where you were and doing what you were doing, and held to that.
Framsel might have been sleeping against her back for part of the ride, for all she could tell, but he stayed on without pinching or groping, and that was all she cared about. It was hard enough keeping herself awake to watch the path in the dark, and making decent conversation was beyond her. When she got to the corral at the infirmary, though, she realised she had nowhere else to keep her cousin overnight.
Fortunately, stopping the horse did rouse him, and he understood enough of what the structure was for to slide off, and help her down. This time, she was tired enough she probably even needed the help. "Gotta get this off of her… can't leave her like this." She was almost slurring the words, she noticed. Framsel hadn't done anything with horses before, but True was a rather placid beast, and happy enough to be rid of the tack. Helping to undo buckles and lift the saddle was certainly within his capacity, and she was grateful for his help.
With a sigh, and looking around, Clara pointed across the yard. "Infirmary. Sorry, got nowhere else to put you with a free bed that I'm sure is open at this hour. I'll leave a note for Belle to bring you breakfast in the morning, get you to see Rhody and your mum. Don't expect me to be up before noon if I can help it." She started off across the yard herself, though not quite for the door.
Framsel watched her go, trudging toward the door she'd indicated. This wasn't what he'd expected at all, and yet, she was trusting him to go into their infirmary. Maybe it was only because she was so clearly exhausted – even weaving a bit as she walked – but it was something of a good sign, for all he'd hoped to see his sisters and mother again when tonight when rousted out like had happened. Well, there was nothing for it. He was an hour's ride from home on a road he didn't really know and had not truly seen. But he'd been assured his loved ones were here, and it pretty much had to be better than being his brothers' tag-along and reduced to their notions of how to live. He'd make the best of it that he could.
