kitten

Kitten paused their walk to reference her borrowed map, and the traveler used the opportunity to inspect his battered cloak. He unfolded the bunched-up wad of cloth and sighed his dismay at some newly appeared lengthwise tears.

The walk to Frogmorton was peaceful, as much of their wanderings within the Shire had been. The traveler almost admired the idyllic life that the halflings had created for themselves. He saw a well fed and kept people who did not flinch at the approach of those of their kind who might yet be unknown – they treated their wider neighbours warmly. There was no fear of strife, no worry for the future of their children. He sensed the underlying tranquility of the land creeping between the cracks of his stony walls. 

The traveler returned to find the girl sitting where he left her, still soaked but not showing sign that she was cold despite the light winter breeze. And now her bear was by her side.

Sleep was definitely not to be had that night.

Nearby murmuring awoke him shortly after he drifted off. The muttering grew more frantic and he pulled himself to sitting, peering in the gloom at the prone girl at his side. His hand found the ties of his rucksack and withdrew one of his smokes, which he put to his lips unlit as he leaned in closer to her. Her eyes were yet closed, so she was speaking to her dreams.

He snuck away after she'd lain asleep a good while, once her breath was soft and even. Although he was leaving her temporarily alone, he deemed Waymeet relatively secure and knew that her bear was out skulking nearby as well.

Now he wandered the open hillside beyond the wagons and farms, the darkness of the fields only broken by light of the full moon. He searched the ground and he knew what he sought well enough to tell it by outline. Some tricks he had learnt during his long wandering still retained their use, as it did now. 

The next morning he awoke to Kitten rigorously scrubbing all their bloodied clothing in the river, the amber water darkening with the dried gore she managed to scour off. When she noticed him awake and watching her, she turned to show him that she had cleaned off his cloak as best she could and lamented that she had no soap to do a proper laundering job.

He awoke lying close to her side, his head angled badly on his lumpy rucksack. There was a painful crick in his neck now, he felt, but he was more concerned about Kitten.

The next morning, Kitten grew agitated that her bear had been absent for some days. She paced and wrung her hands, then insisted that something was wrong. She lifted her bag of heavy books and took off in the direction she had last seen the beast.

The traveler gathered up his shabby rucksack and caught up with her as she cut across town and forest with haste.

The next morning, the sky was bright and cloudless, but the traveler now knew better than to trust in consistent weather on this journey and expected a surprise rainstorm to appear at any moment.

He pulled on his wind-dried clothing and stuffed his rucksack with as much of the hanging pipe-weed as he could. Kitten watched him without judgment, but as they gathered up their belongings to leave before the farmer awoke to find two squatters in his shed, he noticed that she left a few paltry coppers behind.

The next morning, the rain returned with a vengeance. He thought the previous clear, sunny day was a cruel tease now, as he found himself completely sodden and cold yet again.

His cloak held up against the downpour as well as a could be expected, considering its tattered condition, which is to say that mostly it clung very heavily around his body from absorbing excess water.