((Content note: this story describes a very uncomfortable scene. I have made an effort to balance explicit descriptions and reduntant gore in favour of the story. However, if you are specifically upset by mentions of blood and death at this time, I will ask you to give this a miss.))
An unknown man arrived bruised and bleeding to the Combe Lumber Camp with what at first glanced seemed like a patterned potato sack over his shoulder. The fair, sun-kissed morning seemed now to be a mocking illusion as this terrifying discovery befell the workers. A yell erupted and echoed past the roofs and under the sallow canopy. The call summoned a gasp, and the gasp caused a handful of foresters to turn and stop. At this time, one quick man dropped his axe and tools and ran towards the grim sight.
The watch was soon called and bravest of the men found that the potato sack in fact was a gravely wounded, richly dressed hobbit. He was promptly laid out on a work table below a shelter in the far corner of the camp. Here he was examined using what limited physician skill was present. It was soon clear to all, that the hobbit stood no chance of saving. The wounded man sullenly refused to speak, he only sat clutching his bandaged forearms and stewed in misery. Down his shoulder where the hobbit man had been carried, dark red blood had flowed and settled, stiff and breaking over his treated leather garments and deeply stained in the fibers of his woolen tunic. The man was armed and, in his state, looked a true ruffian. All the foresters agreed not to let him leave.
The watch came and the hobbit was quickly identified as Odo Hayward from Staddle. Word was sent to his house with haste and little time passed before his daughter and wife arrived to the scene. Henna, the fair daughter, had been weeping the whole trip but was made to shriek in terror seeing the state of her father. She quickly closed her eyes and turned to her late father's wife, Wisterhya, to sob and cry with no restraint. She clutched the hobbit woman, whose face too had paled and looked sickened by the sight. She shook terribly and grinded her teeth. The misery and agony her poor husband must have experienced in his final moments seemed to be on her mind as she unblinkingly stared at his body. Henna cried refusal. It wasn't true, she said. It wasn't him. Wisterhya could only pat her arm once before apparently losing her strength.
A tree croaked as the wind passed it and started a shower of leaves that landed on the shelter above the scene. Such event took Wisterhya out of her busy mind long enough to notice the bloodied and worn Thadirin, sitting apart from the labourers and still under watch. He caught her eyes but glanced away hurriedly. This prompted Wisterhya to realize that she must collect herself, for she had much explanation to do once a watcher was available to question her.
((OOC note: please consider this a public event, of which word has spread across Bree-land. Feel welcome to know of it IC through any means))
