Atgar returned late in the night, angry and exhausted, to what remained of his cookshop.
The initial search with his neighbors had yielded little, and the sight before him offered no comfort. Broken shelves leaned against the walls, sacks lay torn and empty, his lockbox had been emptied - and worst of all, his prized food rations lay half-eaten across the floor.
He let out a low grunt and pulled out his pipe and pouch, settling onto one of the few chairs still standing. Smoke curled slowly into the air as his gaze drifted, replaying the events of the past hours again and again.
After a while, his hand moved to his belt. He pulled free the torn piece of green cloth.
Mud. Blood.
His brow furrowed.
“What happened here… and who does this belong to?”
His thoughts turned, uneasily, to the Rangers.
Could it be them?
He frowned at the idea.
The Rangers he had met were honorable folk - watchers, not thieves. Yet the cloth… the color…
At the urging of his neighbors, a message had been left for Aranoll, the Ranger who resided in Pickdean. If anyone could make sense of this, it would be him.
Atgar exhaled slowly and reached into his pouch again, this time producing the strange bronze coin.
A wheel… crossed by daggers.
He turned it between his fingers, studying its crude mark.
“This is no sign of hunger,” he muttered. “Nor of desperation.”
This was something else.
Something deliberate.
Something dangerous.
His jaw tightened.
“Who knew about the crate… and why take it?”
The crate from Durin’s Folk Trading Company had been under his care. That alone weighed heavily on him - but to have it stolen, along with his goods…
It made no sense.
And that troubled him most of all.
“I will get to the bottom of this,” he said firmly, rising to his feet.
He moved to the broken door, securing it as best he could with what little remained intact. It would not stop determined thieves - but it would have to do.
There was nothing more he could do tonight.
Not until Aranoll returned.
Atgar lay down fully clothed, his axe resting close at hand. Sleep came slowly, and when it did, it was restless.
Every sound stirred him.
Every creak of wood, every whisper of wind.
Until at last...
A steady voice came from the entrance.
And his eyes snapped open.
