The Fellowship Grows, the Journey Continues (RP)

"Lille? Frack if I know." Noting the glint of moonlight on a scythe and reading the distrust of the group, Ezme's anger riles up even more. She cannot help it from slipping into her voice.

"I am House Felder. I come from long line of hunters and trappers down in Dalhurst -- SOUTH of here. And in my country, we reward kindness with kindness. Your people fed my people. I bring you food in thanks. Now. If you want to attack me because I talk different and have different customs, be my fracking guest. But let the first man to swipe at me be him with no conscience, for he will have to live out his days with innocent blood on his hands."

Ezme slams the buck to the ground in front of her and stares down the group. When no one immediately moves, she goes on:

"Otherwise, I politely request that you drop your fracking farm implements and help me carry this blasted buck back to town so that your grandchildren can have full bellies tomorrow. I am fracking exhausted."

Lille listens to Roald’s parting words in silence, staying at the edge of the gathered people. She munches thoughtfully on a crust of bread after his departure. Her gaze flits variously between her remaining companions and the sword sitting untouched amongst them. Finally, when all conversations and focus have drifted away to other things, she steps quietly forward.

She stands for a moment, considering the weapon. It looks odd in Lille’s small hand, as she lifts it awkwardly to test its balance. Then she turns without a word and slips away toward their possessions where she stashes it inside her pack.

Albert had noticed a distinct lack or reluctance to pick up Roald's sword. "Won't you need it on your way home?" Someone mentioned, "But it's yours." another said, to no avail. Roald seemed confident that he would take only safe routes back. That is until he spotted Lille out of the corner of his eye, weighing the blade in her hand. It made Albert smile. At least they will be carrying with them something that will always remind them of Roald. Not to mention the fact that that same blade had once channeled Raynor's power. In the right hands, it is sure to be a powerful artifact.

Since Lille seemed a bit shy about it, he decided not to say anything. It could wait till a later moment.

Ezme walks proudly ahead of the group toward the town as if she had chosen to do so herself. The whispers about her leg catch her by off-guard, however. Had it really bled so much that it showed through her loose-fitting harem trousers?? She didn't want to draw attention to it by looking.

Violence averted for the time being, the trapper keeps her lips sealed, waiting to see if the townsfolk continue to press the issue. If they did, better to have her companions closer by....

As the group moves off, Lille gauges the crowd and then moves in their direction. Slowly and silently she gains on them until she is walking with them, just behind and to the side. She keeps an eye on Ezme, the people nearest her, and anyone who seems very jumpy or aggressive.

Lille tries to be with the crowd but not.

"Are they asking for me?" Lille steps up beside one of the older men in the back of the group, with whom she had worked to mend the fence earlier. The torches cast less light on the edges of the crowd. "I was a bit distracted." She thrusts out a hand to indicate the puppy dog, who has been running in circles around the stopped group. At her gesture, he comes bounding over and licks her hand, then the man’s, going back and forth to show how very exciting it is to be out at night with all his friends. Lille can’t help but crack a genuine smile through her serious expression.

"Go thank Ezme for sharing her hunt," she tells the excited canine in Wildspeak as the men hoist the deer and the group gets moving. The word for Ezme translates roughly as "large new pack member". Lille falls in step beside the man as the pup heads off to deliver his next slobbery greeting.

Ezme is taken aback by the villager's question, "There to meet??" Overwhelmed and momentarily flummoxed, she kneels to shush and pat the pup as she pieces together what these townsfolk are accusing her of. As she strokes the beast and ponders her response, both she and the dog settle -- in stark contrast to the men waiting impatiently for her answer.

She takes her time, then finally returns: "And I suppose next question is, what did I tell my contact?" The trapper rises to her full height and steps toward her inquisitor, looking him in the eye. She continues lowly and slowly, carefully keeping her anger in check. "If you must know, I told her everything. I told her my grievances. And yes, I told her all about this town, about its struggles and its good people...." Ezme's lips turn down slightly. Breaking eye contact with the man momentarily, she addresses the rest of the group: "I was speaking to Larinia, goddess of the moon." She turns back to the man, her voice betraying a touch of bitterness as she continues. "As always, she answered my prayers elusively, with breath of change in the leaves and song of crickets."

Stepping back, Ezme turns to her kill. Gesturing toward it, she announces loudly: "But then she delivered to me this handsome buck, that I might bring him back to you, that your people not go hungry. Praise be to Larinia!"

Ezme turns back to the man, internally daring him to find fault with her testament.

While all this is happening, Albert is enjoying a good night's rest with a roof over his head. A dream enters his mind about a happy puppy barking as they play fetch together. Perhaps a memory of long ago returning to his mind. In the low moon light, a smile can be seen on his face.

Lille briefly tries to circle around the group to Ezme but give up when she sees the others joining up. While her mood has been lightly tense, her expression darkens as she weaves through the group to her companion. By the time she gets there and the man has suggested their departure, she is practically vibrating with anger.

"Come," she says to Ezme, glaring intensely at the spokesperson. "We need to go get some sleep." As they pass away from the center of the group, she adds, "I’m sorry your gift was unappreciated." She continues to look ready to leap on anyone who comes close as they make their way towards Hilda’s house.

Ezme merely grunts in response to Lille, walking with her to Hilda's. She remains mostly nonverbal until she finally retires, though she pauses to give Lille an appreciative (albeit abashed) "Thank you" before curling in bed. Everything about that encounter had been uncomfortable and humiliating. She was more than happy to be out of this place as soon as possible, but... she did desperately need a good long sleep. She should have just gone to bed instead of going hunting. This town be damned. Now her exhaustion would linger into tomorrow...

Collapsed on a floor mattress, Ezme quickly sinks into a deep sleep that, at first, is mercifully dreamless. Some time later, however, images of the prior day start flashing behind her eyes.... The funny mushrooms she'd noted along the road to the village... Theo's grumpiness, and their cautious entry into town... The spirited child in the arms of her loving father... Lille's telling of her past.... The meal, talk of the border, and Roald's sudden announcement... Her distress, the bleeding, the hunt, and the distrust of the townsfolk. Ezme rewatches it all replay before her, a weariness deep in her bones.

"Quite an eventful day..." comments a voice from behind her. The trapper spins, not quite surprised to see the figure from the carnival lounging casually on a leather, chesterfield chair, not unlike the one her father had favored in her childhood home. An ankle resting on one knee, he sits with his tailcoat nonchalantly splayed open to reveal the chiseled figure beneath. He smiles at her with the same handsome face he'd worn when she'd last seen him at the carnival, a sage cigar smoking from his right hand. Beside him, a warm fire crackles.

"You are..." Ezme starts to say. Suddenly her brows leap up with remembrance. "...Dajmirka..." she gasps. Dajmirka. -- "reverie" in her tongue. That's what she had dubbed him two nights ago when he'd refused yet again to give her a name. This -- these flashbacks of her day -- they had been happening nightly, and yet her recollection of these interactions had always faded upon awakening.

Dajmirka waits patiently as she reprocesses this information for what feels like the umpteenth time, a patient quirk on his lips... but then his smile fades.

"A rough day..." he finally continues. He rises and stands before the fire, pushing his jacket back to show off his abs as he tucks his free hand into his trouser pocket. He tosses his head her direction. "Such a shame about Roald. But I have to admit, Ezmaray, I don't mind having less competition." He bats his eyes playfully, smirks, then looks back at the fire, his face suddenly darkening. He takes a brooding puff of his cigar and exhales the smoke.

He turns his whole body to face her, a glint in his eye. "...Those villagers will burn...."

"What?!?"

Ezme's eyes shoot open. For some reason completely beyond her, she is suddenly ... very much ... awake.