"Hearken now you! Erling!" There was the sound of straining, of creaking leather, and, at length, of begrudging acquiescence, "Go on then, a moment longer." The lively voice came pealing through the thinning trees, the sound of a bare foot tapping with feigned patience, and the sound of a great muzzle grazing great hanks of grass. "Rightiho then Erling. Lets us be off then. No you dursn't ser Erling, no ser you don't! No more eating or I'll name you Barrel, as befits yer, you old rogue."
Thusly the shape of a man came out of the woods, dragging a horse that stood easily two and a half times his height. Erling, the horse, certainly was tall -even by the considerable standards of his venerable breed- however Ferdibrand, the aforementioned man, if that expression may used of Ferdibrands Kin at all- was considerably short. Shorter even than the bearded dwarves.
Cut into the ground was a narrow corridor, into which Ferdibrand led the rascally Great-horse, which nipped at his hair, and tagged at his clothes; so that once Ferdibrand had tethered the beast there, he could run to the top of the loading-ramp, as it were, and strap a veritable mountain of sacks and burgeoning tarpaulins to the mighty back of the steed. Another ripe autumn had come to pass, and Ferdibrand was carrying away his harvest to market far to the south and west. He hoped to reach Estolad without event; but the days have turned queer Ferdibrand mused to himself, repeating as much to the blithely unconcerned Erling. "You know what I marked in the woods earlier, do you ser Erling? Wolves, by track and scent!" He exclaimed. "Wolves Erling! Mind you." The hobbit growled as much as his amiable voice allowed. "So you watch your step, ser! Or I'll let 'em have ye! I will! Ooorah! Gerroff ye confusticated beast!" Ferdibrand extricated the greater part of his face from the ministrations of Erlings' great muzzle and tongue and staggered due south, tugging the reigns.

Ferdibrands fields, not that they expressly belonged to him, or anyone save for the God of Nature himself, were held in the encompassing arms of two reaches of the Taurai Woods. Where wind came seldom, and honey-bees came a-plenty. Making for the cutting in-between, sure enough, Ferdibrand chanced upon the wolf tracks again. And what wolf tracks they are too! The slightly alarmed hobbit edged a little closer to his gargantuan war-bred pack-horse, and could not restrain himself from a furtive glance in each direction; as if he would spot the wolves so easily. Ferdibrand dragged Erlings nose to the ground. "Aye, you just be certain to have a good huff of that. And mind you to warn me if you smell it any fresher! Well be in for a pinch o'trouble, I daresay, if you do. You listenening to me Erling? Erling?" Ferdibrand struck off again, if he was going to be ignored, and with a bit more of a hustle. He flinched when he heard the sonorous wolf-howl behind them; but it sounded lonely, if anything; not overly blood-thirsty. As if the wolf was calling someone. He shook his chestnut-belocked head; not in all the eleven years he'd been cropping the clearing had he marked wolves, and now: they were everywhere, and giant. The howl again, and Ferdibrand discoverd he had the energy to kick up a quick trot, funnily enough; though his companion required only to amble along at much the same stride.

In this fashion they drew nearer and nearer to Estolad, where in the distance, the smoke of the harvest-chaff could be seen burning, and the bonfires from the pruning. The hobbit nodded gladly, relieved to put the threat of wolves behind him, and to lay eyes on the first of the outlying residences. Only Erling stamped, stockstill, with knees locked and his ears pricked up. Wolves? Ferdibrand asked himself incredulously. For, without a shadow of a doubt; Erling had caught their scent; and there, before Ferdibrands own admirably hairy feet, were the tracks.

"Here we go again. Estolad."

The ranger slung his small backpack over his shoulder and grimaced. The sleepy town was filled to the brim with emptiness. Even as he took the dirt road through to the heart of the village, he could feel himself becoming lonelier with each step. The fact of the matter was, Estolad was no Lómëdor. Here, every stranger on the street had a face, could be seen and remembered. Everyone stood out. If he were in Lómëdor - or even Ondolond, that trading city he was rather fond of, as far as cities went - he could simply sink into the crowd, hide himself away, and leave without making a mark on the denizens.

Not here.

He remembered the last time he had come to this run-down sorry excuse for a habitable village. He had ventured here seeking lessons in the way of riding horses: surely a reliable mount would make quick escapes in desperate times that much easier. But somehow, it didn't take. He figured it had something to do with the overbearing instructor (certainly she couldn't have been a certified trainer!) expecting more from him than he had ever expected from himself. It also might have had something to do with the fact that the training animal - the very horse he was told to ride - had the uncanny ability to talk. Just how did that work, anyhow?

"Well, at least now I know. I won't mount anything that can tell me how pathetic I am."

Now, months later, however, he felt as if he needed to give it another shot. Wandering in the desert with that odd Albeiro character had taught him that walking took a long time. Running took even longer (as Aloric tended to take substantial rests between sprints that nullified any advantage he had acquired). He was convinced that a few quick hours of instruction would be the solution to all his problems. And everyone who was anyone knew that Estolad was the place to be as far as horses were concerned. He just had to face his fear of standing out.

That's when he suddenly felt a burst of confidence he never knew he had possessed. If he was going to plod along through the village, he was going to make it count for something. Besides, Estolad would be a tiny dot behind him in a few hours, once he had learned the basics and haggled the price of a steed. In a week's time, no one would remember the ranger or his attempts at learning the art of the ride. While he was here, he would forget his social awkwardness. He'd stand out and be proud of it.

"Morning, gentlemen!" he said happily to the guards. They seemed like kind enough folk, though a little too dull for him to waste breath on. He gave them a wave of his hand as they stood on their watch. That hadn't been so bad!

"How do you do?" An older man with graying hair was carrying a large paper bag in his hands, presumably filled with groceries for the week, and Aloric flashed a smile at him as the two walked in opposite directions. He wasn't sure why the man hadn't greeted him back; perhaps he was contemplating what meal he would fix with all those groceries when he returned home. Or maybe Aloric smelled.

"Hey there!" A young woman was tending to a cart on the side of the street, trying to peddle her wares. He was quite impressed with her pottery, thinking it to be both shapely and practical. He nodded his head as he greeted her. She would have returned the greeting, he was sure, if she hadn't tried shoving a finely crafted vase into his hands.

He decided he had made the rounds for now, perhaps he would make his cheery self known to a few other citizens before he left Estolad behind. His more important objective was to reach the stables.

Turokko's stables was a place that was meant to be found. The village prided itself on its steeds, and Turokko's was the finest establishment in the land when it came to the breeding, raising, and training of horses. He had been there once before, and found that he still knew the way. He caught the attention of one of the stablehands as he surveyed the area, observing all the peaceful animals in their stables. "Hello there, sir, I was wondering if you'd be able to point me in the direction of a riding instructor."

"I'm afraid all of our instructors are either out for the day or are with other clients," the man said apologetically. "However, we have quite a few experienced riders here with us today. Perhaps one would be interested in assisting you?"

"Thank you for your help!" Aloric replied jovially. It felt strange for him to come out of his shell, but he ignored the shame he normally would have placed upon himself. "Mayhaps you're right! I'm sure a little coin would go a long way towards receiving some help." He waved to the stablehand as a parting gesture, and then searched the area for someone who didn't appear too busy for him.

That's when he saw her. A small girl, a few inches shorter than he, looking altogether athletic with her tanned skin and strong build. It was apparent right away that she had a natural affinity for animals, horses especially, or why else would she be here? With his rapidly increasing endorphin levels beginning to show effects, he found himself in a euphoric state of bliss. She was perfect!

He didn't even notice as his feet began to carry him toward the woman. Within seconds he was standing right next to her, and it took a few more seconds for him to realize he needed to say something. He was sure it sounded suave and clever. "My name is Aloric, and I'd like to learn how to ride."

Rièle resided in the tree-city of the Liraden for several months, learning from the wise and generous Ovorodhon and silently mourning the death of her beloved friend. Ovorodhon was enthusiastic to have her as an apprentice, and proved an excellent teacher, but Rièle from the beginning was hesitant about the relationship. As weeks passed by she began to experience a feeling of not-belonging, which started with a slight discomfort at being so deeply accepted and incorporated into the lives and rituals of the Liraden, and gradually expanded into a restless depression as she learned more and more of their culture. Though the knowledge she was gaining filled her desires and helped her along her path for a time, it soon became clear that the person she was to become did not belong in such a place.

Ovorodhon sensed Rièle's hesitance, and tried with all of his wisdom and devices to persuade her to accept the Liraden as her brethren. But Rièle had changed so much inside, and now knew that this path that had been opened to her no longer held any hope of satisfaction. Her explanation to her friend an teacher, "This is not who I am meant to be," seemed a vast inadequacy, yet, despite their sad, disappointed eyes, they seemed to understand.

And so she left, one cold morning, leading Jack back across the familiar wooden bridge that spanned the river. At first her heart felt relief, and even some small excitement, at the expectation that she was leaving the wrong path for the right one, and her step was light and full of purpose. But as she passed out of the Liraden's realm, and set foot again upon the lands of men, she gazed around herself and realized that she had no idea what that path might be.

And so she sat beneath the speckled shade of an overhanging willow tree, along the riverbank, and spent some time in contemplation. Jack grazed bottomlessly and patiently nearby for hours as she sought a means of helping herself find her way. Her mind kept returning to the discontented feeling that had bothered her, and she decided that she needed to begin by seeking a place where she felt like she belonged. The last such place she remembered was Estolad, home of her old teacher. Ms. Ezra had passed away, all those months ago, but it was now spring and there was sure to be plenty of work at Turokko's. Rièle was a little hesitant, for in addition to the sad and painful memories of the place the decision to travel to the village where her journey had began somehow felt like a step backwards. But, perhaps it would help her to take a step forwards. Or at least to eliminate another wrong answer.

Two weeks later Rièle found herself standing on a grassy hill of Salquedor, overlooking the village of Estolad. She stared at the small and quiet little village and wondered how it could seem so distant in its familiarity. While she knew every street, and house, and neighbor and estate it was like was descending from another place, stepping down into the past into a world she had transcended. And yet it still held no more or less possibility for her than any other town she knew.

Still, she told herself, this was the life she'd led for years, and she needed to discern whether it still held a future for her. Aside from visiting a grave along the stream she avoided the village as much as possible, and instead directed Jack towards Turokko's. The enormous building that housed the main barn was visible at a mile's distance. It was surrounded by three additional barns, each huge in its own right, with little pens along their sides. Rièle knew that, inside the great buildings, the floors and walls were wood, and the doors to the stalls were the costly sort that slid to the side as you opened them. The entire stable was immaculately kept, with grooms on-duty from before sunrise to well after sunset. Turokko's had its own farrier, and the constant clink-clink of a hammer pounding could always be heard echoing across the grounds. Green, spring glass and manicured flowers lined the paths, and white picket fences extended far into the distance, outlining the many pastures in which horses grazed. She knew the layout of the vast fields; the aggressive mares were kept in the far pasture, and the shy ones closer to the barns. The older, larger geldings were in the biggest pasture, with the younger geldings and ponies in the adjacent smaller one. Large pens lined the space between the barns and pastures, each with its own little shelter, the stallions and nobles' horses were generally kept here.

Years ago, Turokko himself ensured Rièle that there would always be a place for her at his stables, for she was a hard-working girl who was talented with the training of difficult horses. And yet, when Rièle approached him, the old stable-owner's grizzled face furrowed in thought as he hesitated over her small request. Rièle cast her eyes downward humbly, for she recalled the incident whereby Ezra had died and she had obtained Jack, and she knew that the men and women of Estolad must have viewed these events with some suspicion. The nobles especially would not have been happy about the outcome, as several of their own had died as well, and they were Turokko's main clientele.

But Rièle's sad eyes and honest words won Turokko over, for he allowed her to board with his workers. So it was that Rièle woke each morning an hour before dawn and began cleaning stalls and water buckets with the other hired hands. They mixed grain, fed pastures and pens, and doctored horses before they were fed themselves each morning. The spring mornings were still cold, with frost upon the ground, and Rièle sat upon the hay-cart watching her breath billow in the rays of the rising sun, the light of the early morning bringing out such contrast in the colors and shades of the world around her. They tossed hay to impatient groups of horses, the dominant ones always at the front, with their ears pinned and teeth bared to ensure they got the first and largest bunch of hay that was thrown. In the other pasture the horses galloped alongside the cart, bucking and playing in their excitement. Each of the horses in the pens tried to push their way through the little gates as the feeders entered, intent on grabbing a mouthful of hay from the feeders' arms in their impatience.

Stall cleaning at Turokko's never truly ceased, however, Rièle's particular shift of duty ended at midday. After an enormous and energizing midday dinner she found a secluded place and practiced with her staff for several hours, and then usually went for a ride on Jack or walked in the nearby woods to pass the afternoon. When most of the clients had gone home for the day she was given the duty of training several horses, a time during which she usually found herself alone and free of the company of her peers.

Rièle spent much of her loneliness contemplating her place in the world. When on a horse she was content, for then her mind was submerged in the link between man and beast, and the beauty and concentration of it removed, for a time, the weight of her plight from her chest. She found that this link the horses gave to her, allowing her to serve a purpose in the human world, almost threatened to end her loneliness. For while there were men and women at the stable who ignored her, there were others who would speak to her and call her friend. Yet she felt as if, now, she was somehow different from them. She told herself that her companions of late had been unusually extra-ordinary. One had been a deity, and the others had possessed powers that most humans would never hold or understand. Further, her comrades at Turokko's, while providing companionship, presented her with no challenges that helped to develop the few strange abilities that she had shown an aptitude for. She knew this life was not at all what she sought for herself... but could it become so?

As she emptied her last wheelbarrow late one morning, deep in thought and troubled by her choices, a stranger approached her from behind. His forwardness surprised her, and caught her off her guard, but she smiled at his friendly nature. He had an enthusiastic brightness to his eyes, and seemed to carry himself with quite a lack of balance even on two feet, which almost made her giggle. "My name is Aloric," he said, "and I'd like to learn how to ride."

She was caught in a moment of uncertainty, for she knew that her place should be to reply, "I'm sorry sir, I just clean stalls here. Someone else will help you." But Turokko's was also quite busy that morning, and she knew that there would be no trainers available to help him until the morrow. She imagined him under the eye of one of Turokko's trainers, who were used to teaching nobles, and riding one of the well-bred high-strung lesson horses, and surmised that the likely result would involve him looking up at his poor horse from the ground. With a questioning glance at the man who had sent Aloric to her, and a nod giving permission, she accepted his request. "I'm Rièle," she said, offering to shake his hand, "I can teach you." She put down her pitchfork and indicated that he follow.

They walked a ways, to another part of the stable, where horses waiting to be sold were kept. Rièle went to the farthest stall and plucked an enormous halter from its hook upon the wall. It belonged to the friendly, nosing muzzle of a light chestnut mare with a cream-colored mane, who began gently sniffing Aloric's pockets for treats as soon as Rièle led her from the stall. The mare was half Percheron, about 9 years old, and extremely strong, with a calm and gentle disposition. She was not built for speed, but was sure and steady, and had admirable stamina. Her last owner had treated her well, though she was perhaps a bit spoiled and used to getting her way, and had a number of mischievous tricks up her sleeve as a result.

Rièle tied the mare in a cross-tie, and thrust a curry-comb into Aloric's hand, insisting he do his part in grooming the animal. She showed him the correct way to move the brush, so that the loose dirt and hair came free from the horse's coat. The mare enjoyed the back-scratching, and Rièle took a moment to open her mind to the beast's thoughts. She likes the smell of him, Rièle translated the feeling she received. I suppose it was a good choice, then. Together they cleaned up the mare, Rièle showing Aloric each step of the process, including how to clean the mare's feet, and place the saddle on her back. The mare continually stuck her nose against Aloric's pockets looking for lumps that might be treats, and tried to scratch her face against his leg. After the horse was cleaned and saddled Rièle led them to a small grassy opening behind the barn, next to the edge of a large expanse of birch trees. She attached a long line to the mare's bridle before showing Aloric how to mount; from the left side, and gently, so as not to hurt the horse's back. The mare was wide, and comfortable to sit, though the resulting extended spread of Aloric's legs would leave him incredibly sore on the following day. With patience Rièle adjusted the stirrups, and showed Aloric how to hold the reins, explaining that only gentle commands were needed, for a large piece of metal inside a horse's mouth made her extremely sensitive to the movements of one's hands.

The mare walked easily and automatically, ignoring the fumbles of her rider and allowing him to learn. Rièle kept her on the lead, allowing the mare to make a reliable and continuous circle around her even when the rider was too overwhelmed to steer and keep the horse moving at the same time. Soon Rièle began telling Aloric to adjust his position. "Bring your leg back farther, and keep your heels down. Don't let your shoulders tip forward. Sit up straight.... not like a sack of potatoes. Keep your heels down. Shorten your reins, they're way too long. Direct her to the right now, you're drifting... Remember, she moves away from your leg... Just tug gently to get her to turn, your rein controls her head, but your leg gets her body to follow... and keep your heels down!"

Her incessant barrage of instructions went on for some time, until she wondered whether it wouldn't be easier to train a mockingbird to repeat her instructions over and over. The mare was behaving admirably, though admittedly she was also napping through most of the lesson. "Ok," Rièle said confidently, after Aloric had managed not to fall off through his mount's slumbering walk. "Let's try trotting."

But before Aloric could react, their lesson was interrupted by a movement in the trees. A tickling sensation brushed against Rièle's mind, and she froze, alert to the creatures that were approaching. Instinctively she opened her mind, and suddenly found herself lost amongst an unfamiliar pattern of thought. "They're hunting," she said aloud. For the thoughts she'd encountered were those of a pack, which, like their behaviors, were inherently intertwined, and somehow dependent and deferential to each other. Some thoughts shone through and dominated over others, while those of others listened, deferred, and supported those of the leaders. Rièle's mind was pulled into the wolf dream, and her eyes took on a glossy stare as the focus of her mind was whisked away. She found herself in the midst of a flurry of image-thoughts, impressions and wild instinct. She found herself pressed as one with the pack, naturally running with them, sharing scents and gnashing mental teeth in play and instinct with the pack leaders. The minds of the wolves were strong, and seemed to be directing her to listen, so Rièle allowed her thoughts to quiet within their midst. They circled round her, their thoughts flashing across the dream, exchanging scents with her, and one another, and brushing up against each other as wolves did physically. They seemed to make a decision, or perhaps simply to grow bored, for they exchanged a final contact of eyes with her and drifted away. Their own impressions were kept from her as they departed, and Rièle sadly watched them go, and allowed her own mind to drift back to itself.

Only seconds had passed since her thoughts had drifted away, and Rièle's sight returned to her to find a gray shape and a pair of yellow eyes drifting slowly away through the trees. The mare woke from her sleepy saunter as the light breeze shifted slightly, blowing the smell of the wolves to her nostrils. She started, and lifted her head, and skitted to the far side of her circle to stand at alert with her senses focused on the trees. Knowing her duty she protected the inexperienced rider on her back, keeping her head aloft to help help prevent him from falling, for then he might become prey to the hunters. She whuffed loudly at the trees, and tensed her muscles, pulling on the lead Rièle still held and communicating as strongly as she could that she wanted to flee to the safety of the barn.

Rièle did not seem to hear the mare. She stared after the wolves, silent and mystified. Her mind had never before felt such a natural freedom. And the message they had given her stung imprinted on her vision like the glare of the sun.

The autumn breeze got up behind Ferdibrand, scented with wild-thyme and penny-rose crushed under foot and hoof; stirring the fields and setting the seed-heads of the fallow grass to nodding; and the tiny shape of the halfling, clad in diligently oiled leathers, and strapped down, it seemed, with the toppling bulk of dwarven-axes. Ferdibrand, fully shadowed by the gargantuan form of the horse standing over him, stood quite still, seemingly doing nothing but peering at the wolf-tracks as if time had stopped.
Now it was, not that anyone could see it, or even imagine it of the hugely-dwarfed character standing only knee-height beneath Erling the horse; but Ferdibrand had an uncanny and astonishingly elemental ability, of seldom considered, and largely overlooked latent power. It was: for Ferdibrand, and all of the Mages of his Kind, almost as if plants, trees, -and for that matter- all growing things were but a thought away. Indeed, even at that moment, there they were: the unseen roots of his Will were delving deep into the living earth beneath him, borne upon the roots of the poplars, and beeches; and ethereal branches and tendrils of thought and feeling were spreading through the air; every last thistle-fairy, and heliocopter-seed of sycamore was the bearer of Ferdibrands Will. The leaves upon the ground yielded up gasping thoughts to him, in their state of decay; and the venerable timbers within the trees reverberated with all that had come to pass within countless years; a dizzying cacophony of memory and emotion that had to be sifted and interpreted with a patient and masterful consideration.
There was certainly no wind that day, but a ripple passed through the grasses, in a widening circle about the frowning Halfling, as he spread his Will. His mind suffused with it all: the barely perceptible thoughts of the grasses; the deep delving musings of oak and elm; and even yet: the brief flashes of fierce existence of the moulds and mildews, all interlaced within a symphony of common-thought all of which was suddenly as one with Ferdibrands' own.
In this state, Ferdibrand was suddenly as one with beings many thousands of years old, and his mind was stretched to tearing-point with the sheer depth and breadth of time and perspective through which these beings experienced the world. Some of the trees, the more wakeful, and less tree-like trees truly listened and heard the world, the ministrations of the mages the likes of Ferdibrand had seeped into them, quickening them from the living slumber of trees. Their sap was quick, and their minds fully formed, with mind-roots of their own; with hopes and ambitions of their own, and hatreds.
Long had Ferdibrand contemplated this frightful phenomenon; of the trees quickening. But then, Ferdibrand mused to himself, though there were never many of his Kind, the Iuithiolvar*, at any one point in time, they had ever walked the world, since the beginning.Sheep get like shepherds, the diminutive Ferdibrand mused, head still bowed to the earth at his feet, and the farthest reaches of his mind already reaching the horizons. and shepherds get like sheep... he blinked, and concentrated. It was unwise to spend too long amongst the trees. Entire days could be spent on a single thought; entire weeks. Many of the Iuithiolvar had simply forgotten to pull themselves out of the world of the thoughts of plants, and simply starved to death where they collapsed, their minds and spirits forever lost in the ether.
Perhaps sensing his companions wandering-soul Erling nudged Ferdibrand with his muzzle."ooof! Gerroffit ye bully!" The hobbit grumbled half-heartedly. He returned his attention in earnest to his task delicately asserting his senses, finding only truly-treeish trees who only experienced the world through the exchange of their breath, as it were. Passing their breath amongst one-another, laced with scents that communicated illness, or dominance. To the trees, the moment in which Ferdibrand was dropping into the well of their perception, was only dim; only half-realised; and they shivered and trembled at his bidding to rouse, and lend him their hearing, and their sight, and their peerless sense-of-smell.
Ferdibrand reached up and held onto Erlings' bridle, having tarried within the great ocean of the thoughts of trees, and squandered his manna; now for each moment he remained within the ether, it would cost him physically. Sweat began to bead at his brow, as he tried to interpret the senses of the trees, trying to discern where the wolves might be, and what they might be doing.
But the trees, if they were not much concerned with the-moment-in-time were even less concerned, if that is possible, with the living things moving about them. Ferdibrand had to search for the right signs, and interpret them. This method was not infallible, much of what he perceived was only good for an estimate. But he thought he sensed them, in the copse by the largest of the stables, the wolves. Crushed grass under their feet, the little burl-seeds that endeavoured to cling to their fur, Ferdibrand emmerged with a gasp, and hung, shaking, from Erlings bridle, and, at length, pried some of the way-bread, and dried fruits from his bag to restore himself.
Looking up at the sun Ferdibrand only scolded himself further. Five hours had allayed, while he allowed his soul to wander amongst the Thoughts; much longer and he would have fainted, and been lost. He patted Erling, and, making sure no-one would see, have him a quick hug, and staggered off toward the village again.
What Ferdibrand chanced upon was a lesson in horse-back-riding. To his surprise, it was a new girl tutoring a real-life ranger, by the looks of him. Ferdibrand buried his confusion, that a ranger, in the fullness of his adulthood, should never have learned to ride. The man, only barely past his youth, had eyes filled with shifting shadows, with palpable doubts, and yet, in Ferdibrands' perception, bright lights of keenly bright potential. Ferdibrand was put in mind keenly of himself, as he had been: a highly disoriented and dysfunctional hobbit-lad filled with the terrible potential to be what he had become, but all-the-while still terrified by the raw elemental force of the osmosis through which his Iuithiolvar capabilities had suffused his body and soul. But, Ferdibrand mused, you still haven't met all that many Big People. he counselled himself, putting the mysteries of Big People and youths for that matter! , he thought, to rest. With a wary eye at the trees, the very same where he guessed the wolves had gone, Ferdibrand called a weary greeting to the stable-girl. "Evnin all. Sorry miss, p'raps we've not met; or else I can't rightly recall your name. I'm Ferdibrand, Ferdibrand Rumble." he said, hoping she had not met him, and did not know his commonly-used nick-name: "Dibs". During his tweens, in which he had extensively grown alfalfa for Turokko, he was well known and often seen around the stables, enough that he was still unable to out-grow the haunting effect of Dibs. In his own mind, Ferdibrand had achieved the highest mastery of the Iuithiolvar (but which, of course, he could not tell anyone); had bought and learned the use of a wieldy battle-axe, Buster; and most importantly, had actually turned thirty. He was a bona fide adult. But standing little higher than most peoples waist, with rosy cheeks, and a bright energetic voice, if sounding a little tired for the moment, did not help a halfling cultivate a strong and dignified name such as Ferdibrand easily.


*Iuithiolvar, Sindarin. Weilder of Plants.

He was learning so much.

For once in his life, he had allowed his mind to be open to something new, something unfamiliar and foreign. Something uncomfortable. He couldn't recall anything that had felt stranger than sitting on the back of that animal, that living, breathing beast. He felt so insignificant, as if this new world he had discovered was too big for him, had no place for him. Even this horse was more important than he, and more confident in itself, and more comfortable in its own skin. At first, he felt as if the two of them were so separate and disjointed. He was an invader, attempting to conquer something he knew nothing about. It scared him.

But there was something about this trainer that made none of that matter. Rièle was a master at her chosen trade, or so he believed her to be in his own mind. He had only known her for a few moments, but already he could feel her passion and her expertise swimming around her like a powerful aura, and his simply being near her allowed him to taste that same passion.

His earlier foolishness and conjured joviality had all but abandoned him now. As Rièle brought them out into a clearing, he regained his senses, his face flushing red at how odd he had acted when he first approached the young woman. He tried to shake the embarrassing thought from his mind and concentrate on what she was trying to teach him. Eventually, he let himself completely forget his shame, and this allowed him to fully thrust himself into the lesson. He no longer felt unattached and disjointed. He was a student - a horribly unskilled student, but a student nonetheless. And he had a teacher.

She was like no one he had ever met before. She was assertive, confident, and knowledgeable. And seemingly, she didn't care who or what the ranger was. She didn't ask questions of him; where was he from, why did he want to learn how to ride? She didn't care what his past was, and she didn't care that he was this strange, introverted, socially awkward failure of a person. She treated him like a student, not as some child that needed to be coddled or held. He hadn't realized it before, but he did now. That was how he had been treated his entire life. And he had accepted it.

Every time she scolded him for a mistake, he silently thanked her for it. He thanked her for being blunt, brutal, honest, all in the name of truly wanting to help him succeed. When most others would have tried to console him as he failed repeatedly, she dared to make him see his own mistakes. He hadn't gained her approval, and he never would until he mastered her instructions. Never had he possessed such goals, or such a determination to prove himself. He would show her he was capable.

And with that new found will to try something, and that new found resolve to actually see it through to completion, something churned inside of Aloric. As he fell into his desires and ambitions, he could physically feel his doubt beginning to wash off of him. His fears of failing were erased by a confidence he hadn't felt before. And when this happened, he felt something new burning inside of him, something he had never known before.

Happiness.

He now knew he was more at peace here than he had ever been. The stables, the animals, the sounds and smells of the clearing; as he gazed out into the birch trees, he smiled.

Then he fell of his horse.

It was hard work, still; his attitude adjustment hadn't changed the fact that this wasn't a skill one could simply pick up on the fly. Even something as simple as controlling the reins presented itself as a massive obstacle to his mastering the ride. But he no longer let the embarrassment get to him. He took Rièle's directions to heart, and suffered through all of her criticism. He didn't let it bring him down. So engrossed was he that he barely even heard her ominous words.

"They're hunting."

He froze as the mare started moving without command, then he felt his body wobbling in the air as the mount expressed her nervousness. Aloric couldn't say he felt any differently. What was hunting? And how did Rièle know? Were they in danger? Did they need to start running at the earliest possible convenience? Was it alright to panic? Was it fine if he-

"Evnin all."

He thought he was having a heart attack. In his state of panic, someone had crept up to the grassy expanse. His eyes shot in the direction of the voice, then widened with curiosity. A hobbit. The hobbits were hunting? Is that what Rièle had meant? Who was this small fellow, and how did he plan to kill them? In his mind he began to formulate an escape plan from this hunter. He would put his new knowledge to use; he would grab the reins of his steed and head through the trees until he either fell off or reached a town.

He was beginning to put his plan into motion when the stranger opened his mouth once more. "Sorry miss, p'raps we've not met; or else I can't rightly recall your name. I'm Ferdibrand, Ferdibrand Rumble."

Why was this killer introducing himself? Perhaps it was his calling card. Whatever the case, Aloric was ready to spring to action. In a rare occurrence of bravery, he would step to the defense of his trainer, and fight this intruder honorably. Live or die, he would do all he could to make sure this short man didn't lay a finger on Rièle.

It was only the distinct howl of a wolf that pushed him back into reality. Oh, he thought, that hunter.

Still, even if Rièle hadn't been accusing this hobbit of hunting, the ranger wasn't sure they could trust him, especially since he had managed to creep up on them without making much sound. And though he seemed amiable enough, his motives could have been disguised. But Aloric wasn't as ready to fight to the death now as he had been a few seconds ago. Instead, he decided to focus on bringing his heart rate back down as he allowed Rièle to do the talking. It was probably better that way.

(OOC: Partial joint post with Curin.)

Rièle's thoughts were still latched upon the wolves that lurked within the birch trees when the hobbit approached. "Evnin all," he said, his little voice startling Rièle slightly. She turned to see who had approached them in such a secluded place, and her eyes fell upon the little brown-haired hobbit and his enormous gray pack horse. "Sorry miss," he said, "p'raps we've not met; or else I can't rightly recall your name. I'm Ferdibrand, Ferdibrand Rumble."

Rièle looked keenly upon the diminutive hobbit, taking in his cargo of alfalfa, and she recalled the familiar form of one of Turokko's alfalfa-growers, who often made deliveries to the stables. She then realized why he had intruded upon their lesson, for she had chosen a clearing that stood behind of one of the stables' many hay-barns. Her heart sank a little at this, for she had perceived that Aloric was enjoying his lesson, and learning a great deal from her instruction. The man had little natural talent, but possessed the admirable capacity and humility to listen, and did not talk back or insist upon blaming his mount when things did not go as they should. He had already fallen off once, but Rièle knew that learning by mistake was as effective as learning by doing something correctly, perhaps more so, and Aloric did not complain when she instantly directed him back into the saddle.

Though, she did not envy the size of his bruises on the morrow.

Soon Aloric had started to relax, and though he was still concentrating very hard a contented expression formed upon his face. Rièle smiled inwardly, for she empathized with this; connecting with a horse and giving so much trust to another being was as peaceful and satisfying an experience as she knew. She was glad to have been approached by such a worthy student, and wondered if he would return again.

Suddenly remembering her charge, Rièle turned to meet Aloric's eyes, and realized that she'd left him in an uncomfortable predicament. The mare was standing rigidly at the end of her longline, and had clearly spooked at the nearness of the wolves. Aloric was miraculously still astride her, though he looked so nervous that Rièle wondered if he expected Ferdibrand to leap twenty feet into the air and rip him to shreds with his teeth. She scolded herself sternly for allowing her attention to waver from her student, and walked over to the two of them. "Easy," she told the mare, gently stroking her nose. She opened her mind and projected confident images to reassure the mare that the wolves were gone, and soon the horse was nudging at her pockets again, carefree and relaxed.

"You need to be calm, when she is nervous," Rièle said softly, that only Aloric might hear. "She can feel everything you do, from the touch of your leg to the direction your eyes are pointing. They know when something's wrong, because they can feel it through you. If something unexpected approaches, you must be confident, and unafraid, or your horse will shy, and refuse to move with you. They give us strength, and confidence, and trust, but we must return it. They will feel your energy, and if you feel confidence in yourself, they will face anything you ask them to. Do you understand?"

At Aloric's assent, Rièle smiled warmly in approval, and led the mare slowly to stand before Ferdibrand. "I have seen you, sir hobbit," she finally answered, inclining her head respectfully, "but your name is unfamiliar, so we mustn't have been introduced. My name is Rièle. I am serving as one of Turokko's hands, for a time." As she looked more closely upon Ferdibrand's features, a small recognition dawned in her eyes. "But... perhaps... are you not the one known as Dibs? Or by chance he is a relative?"

"Ah..." Ferdibrand blushed beautifully, and coughed into his fist, his pinched brows . He coughed again, as if he would either weep or laugh. "Aha, no miss, to be sure, Dibs means me, if you take my meaning."

Rièle smiled. "Yes, then, I have seen you many times. I do not work here often, but I remember you, and your sweet horse." She let Erling sniff her hand, and he began to lick her fingers. "But I must apologize, sir, for it seems our lesson is in your way."

Dibs, blushed again, and bored a woolly toe into the dirt, looking up in astonishment at her words Sweet in reference to Erling. "Oho! Master Erling; sweet is he? Well, I was never one to gain-say a neighbour, for better or worse. But sweet? My Erling?" He blinked, for there it was, the war-horse-come-beast-of-labour sniffed her hand with familiarity, and licked the salt from her skin. He shook his head, bewildered, and shot a glare at Erling. "No, miss, ye're not in my way, only it don't muchly seem as many are around or about, and I wondered where the crop ought to be put."

"In there will do," Rièle indicated the hay barn behind them. Not many around? she thought, confused for a moment by Ferdibrand's words. "But there should be many trainers in the arenas, and the afternoon work hands are in the barns and pastures, and Turokko himself was looking over the sale of a horse not an hour ago. You didn't see them?"

Dibs stood strangely still, and queerly upright for a moment, his hand reaching for the bridle of the giant snowy beast behind him. "Ah, no miss. I don't know where anyone is. You're the only two within..." the hobbit caught himself, "you be the only two I've seen or heard."

An eerie chill passed through Rièle, and her imagination conceived only terrors and disasters that could could explain why everyone had vacated the stables in the midst of such a busy afternoon. But if such a calamity had occurred, how had she and Aloric not heard or seen anything to alert them of it? With haste and worry she opened her mind, extending her senses to seek the cause of such a strangeness. Her thoughts scryed outward, searching for the presence of animal minds, and she felt again the nearness of the wolves, and the temptation of their haunting mental dance that so urged her to join them. She hesitated then, for the longing greatly tugged at her, and she was overcome by untimely temptation to let her mind slip within their midst. With effort she withdrew her thoughts, and turned her eyes to her companions, wondering what they should do. "Perhaps we should go see if something's wrong?"

Dibs was looking at her keenly, something akin to recognition lit the brown depth of those little pools of throught. "What do you make of it ser Ranger?" he asked over Rieles' shoulder.

Overhead the sun began to tilt off its zenith, taking on the hint of westering-gold; so that it gleamed richly upon the tirelessly oiled and buffed leather battle-cap and armour of the halfling ranger; who leant, resting his head against the edge of the kite-shield strapped to his back. From his belt, hanging where his hands rested, were the hilts of the twin axes, Biff and Buster. If he stood six feet tall, the diminutive ranger would cut a fearsome and memorable visage. But as it was, he stood barely knee high to his behemoth silvery-white battle-horse-come-pack-pony -and who was chewing impishly at his masters hair and ears and utterly ignoring the distracted swats of the clever brown fingered hand.
Ferdibrand peered calmly over at the ranger in the saddle, and if he wasn't mistaken, Ferdibrand could have sworn that the man paled. The shadowed eyes showed a flicker of whites as the man cased the area, his body weight shifted, as if to spur the horse to a gallop. The rangers condition seemed only to worsen after Ferdibrands cheerful-enough introduction, into notable agitation.
Then the wolf howled.
Strangely, though, as Ferdibrand himself, and the lady-stablehand tensed, or flinched, the ranger seemed to relax; and the halfling fingered Busters' haft with a pinch of brows. That's an odd thing, and no mistake. he mused, with a thoughtful pout of lips, as he turned his face, inflectively, to one side and rubbed a hand across his chin.
With the howl the trainer-stablehand comforted the rangers horse with the easy confidence of an experienced horse-master. "Easy," she moved closer to the rider, whispering something for the rangers ears alone, and Ferdibrand let his head settle back against the familiar, and at times comforting edge of the shield, but which also acted to catch the slightest sounds like a hearing-horn. "You need to be calm, when she is nervous," She whispered, and Ferdibrand felt his tension ease, a little, that her words were in earnest naught but the summary of a good lesson, which his arrival had cut short, much to the trainers obvious disappointment. Ferdibrand kept his expression level. "She can feel everything you do, from the touch of your leg to the direction your eyes are pointing. They know when some thing's wrong, because they can feel it through you. If something unexpected approaches, you must be confident, and unafraid, or your horse will shy, and refuse to move with you. They give us strength, and confidence, and trust, but we must return it. They will feel your energy, and if you feel confidence in yourself, they will face anything you ask them to. Do you understand?" Ferdibrand nodded to himself at her words, a woman of quiet wisdom and dignity, he deemed, deciding instantly that he liked, and trusted her."I have seen you, sir hobbit, but your name is unfamiliar, so we mustn't have been introduced. My name is Rièle. I am serving as one of Turokko's hands, for a time...But... perhaps... are you not the one known as Dibs? Or by chance he is a relative?"
Ferdibrand was crushed, his earlier bravado and calm washed from him, as if by the force of a flood."Ah..." Ferdibrand felt his face flush, the roses in his cheeks blooming into a veritable garden, and he coughed into his fist for a lack of words, his pinched brows betraying an old argument he had often waged with himself, and always lost: whether to admit his nick-name, or to insist that people call him by his full name. He coughed again, as if he would either weep or laugh. "Aha, no miss... He admitted with a sinking heart,"...to be sure, Dibs means me, if you take my meaning."
The trainer, Rièle, smiled, her eyes brimming with what Ferdibrand deemed to be good sense, and what he thought of as a sense of good roots"Yes, then, I have seen you many times. I do not work here often, but I remember you, and your sweet horse." She reached a hand, fearlessly for the trained and tried destrier, much to Ferdibrands amazement. Erling, for his sleepy expression, and otherwise calm demeanour was a devil of a warhorse, and Ferdibrand had thought he was the only other being, but for Erlings orginal Master, that the horse would suffer. "But I must apologize, sir, for it seems our lesson is in your way."
The severly bewildered halfling, who would now think of himself as Dibs in this Rièles' company blushed again, and bored a woolly toe into the dirt, looking up in astonishment at her words Sweet in reference to Erling."Oho! Master Erling; sweet is he? Well, I was never one to gain-say a neighbour, for better or worse. But sweet? My Erling?" He blinked, for there it was, the war-horse-come-beast-of-labour sniffed her hand with familiarity, and licked the salt from her skin. Ferdibrand shook his head, bewildered, and shot a glare at Erling, feeling minutely betrayed, somehow. "No, miss, ye're not in my way, only it don't muchly seem as many are around or about, and I wondered where the crop ought to be put."
"In there will do," said she, but her expression was alarmed, somehow, by his words. "But there should be many trainers in the arenas, and the afternoon work hands are in the barns and pastures, and Turokko himself was looking over the sale of a horse not an hour ago. You didn't see them?"
Dibs delved into his still largely drained manna, and pushed out his senses sending out a widening circle of perception, in search of the other workers the lady Rièle was so clearly alarmed were not present. "Ah, no miss. I don't know where anyone is. You're the only two within..." Dibs caught himself before he admitted to his strange ability, "you be the only two I've seen or heard."
Dibs, whose senses were still all about him, thought, then, for a moment, he perceived the brush of another Will, but one which was foreign to him, it was too quick; swirling; and charged with emotion. He looked and thought he perceived a glaze of Rièles' eyes, and a slight haunted expression upon her face, a sense of longing registering upon his Will "Perhaps we should go see if something's wrong?" said she.

Dibs was more than certain theWill he had sensed had been that of Rièle; and he marvelled at that; for to him, she still seemed very young. Her touch had been very subtle, to register so lightly. It was that finesse, or lack thereof, that betrayed young mages almost instantly. But her presence had been as delicate as if it was the most natural thing in the world for her to do, and not an extremely perilous and rare power. He wondered, then, who her Master had been, to have passed to her such peerless delicacy in her use of power, that it barely registered upon the perceptions of one who could catch the thoughts and feelings of moulds and mildews.
"What do you make of it ser Ranger?" he turned their attention to the ranger astride the horse.
With little to do but go in search of trouble, as Dibs saw it, he pressed the reign of his horse into Rièles' hands, and stumped off in the direction he thought everyone to be. It had been difficult to get a proper sense of where they might be, and his guess was more than a long shot, for unfortunately, if folks were inside of doors, he often had little to work with. Few indeed kept many potted plants, and even then, they might only have airy-minded ferns whose attentions were almost more vague than that of mould.
All in all he was led, by his own incorrect guesses, in circles, with so sign of anyone to be found. Even then, after a couple of extremely frustrating hours, in which Ferdibrand, feeling altogether bolder and more Ferdibrandish, grumbled more than crossly to himself, despairing of the ways of Big People altogether, for he could not even find his earlier companions to save himself; and had begun to wish he hadn't parted ways with them.
Then he heard the unmistakeable roar of an upset Erling. A noise to put fear into the most steadfast warrior; somewhere between a roar, and a scream, and loud enough to leave the ears ringing and eyes watering. An enraged stallion, in Ferdibrands experience, was not a funny thing, least of all when the given stallion had been trained and bred to kill people. Ferdibrand summoned his manna again, and put on a good burst of speed, throwing caution to the wind. If, indeed, there had been anyone to see him, the remarkable thing about Ferdibrands little sprint, was that they would hardly see anything at all. Naught but a blur in fact, for Ferdibrand, among other achievements in his studies to become an Iuithiolvar, had also gained rather a lot of control over time. When he needed to put on a bit of speed, it was almost as if time stopped, or else he sped up phenomenally. Either way, he covered the distance between himself, and his wild-eyed and enraged Erling, in time to hurl himself through the air, and catch onto the girth-strap, and be carried, bumped and beaten by every one of the destriers strides, into the night.

"Do you understand?"

He understood, but that didn't mean he accepted. Rièle was telling him about a bond that he had never known existed, had never been apart of, and wasn't sure he ever wanted to be. Well, he wanted to be, perhaps, but the notion still scared him nonetheless. Mainly because he didn't feel confidence in himself. He could conjure up a false sense of security from time to time, as he had done when he first introduced himself to the woman, but true confidence in his abilities and in his situation - he knew that could potentially be something that was completely beyond him. He'd given up on himself a long time ago. How was this beast to trust him if he didn't trust himself? Another life was being placed in his hands, coupled with his psyche; willing, wanting, needing to be a part of him for its own safety, relenting to his thoughts and fears. The idea of it was overwhelming.

He was so caught up in the weight of her words that he didn't realize he was letting his doubts rain down upon him once more. He had just gotten rid of those! And now his fear of failing was more real than it had ever been.

Can I do this?

Whatever the case, it was good that his instructor seemed to be familiar with the halfling that had invaded their lesson. He mentally kicked himself for immediately thinking the worse of the man, who apparently meant them no harm at all. Then again, the most villainous of men were the ones who cloaked their intentions until their target was most vulnerable. He would have to keep his eye on this Dibs, though he was much less suspicious of him than he had been but a moment ago.

As the two acquaintances continued to talk about things that apparently didn't affect him, the ranger allowed his mind to wander back to what Rièle had said that had initially brought his fears back to the surface. Hunters. From the depths of the forest, he was certain he could hear his friends making their presence known. It had started slowly, a faint howl against the wind, suppressed by the elements. But as he set his full attention on it, he knew the situation was more dire than he had first guessed.

There was more than just one howl emanating from behind that line of trees. He completely drowned out his companions as he focused entirely on the sounds around them. Everything went silent for a few seconds, and he closed his eyes.

A growl.

And another.

And another.

All around them. They were surrounded by a wall of screams. A wall that was inching closer and closer around them, tightening the circle, constricting them.

"What do you make of it ser Ranger?"

"I think we need to run."

And he was off.




He only got a few yards before his lack of skill in the saddle was made apparent, as he lost nearly all control of the animal, loosed his grip on the reins, and slid off the back of his steed. He was undeterred, however, in his flight from the wolves. They were after him, and he knew it. He should have expected it from the beginning, but foresight was never as clear as hindsight. This was even truer in Aloric's case. All the more reason for him to run, run as fast as he could to that town he despised, to flee to the safety of shelter. He forgot all about Rièle, his trainer; and Dibs, the hobbit; and his borrowed horse that was galloping in some other direction, panicking in unison with the ranger. He forgot everything but his own safety. For all his fears, the one he could never hope to shake was the fright that consumed him every time he heard one of those menacing roars. And in that moment, nothing else mattered to him except getting through the night alive.

Unfortunately, the town offered less refuge than he had hoped. The Estolad he found was not the one he had left. The dirt roads were deserted, the vendor stands were abandoned. It was as if the entire village had packed up and moved out. Desperately he tore through the streets, pivoting this way and that, looking for a sign, any sign at all of human life. But it was altogether a ghost town, left in haste by its denizens, which made it all the more ominous.

As he pressed further and further in, he noticed fires creeping up against the houses, a violent flame rising under the night sky. Crates of supplies were strewn about in a random fashion. Peddled goods rolled around on the ground in front of him. The door to the armory swung wildly on its hinges, the storeroom's contents completely emptied.

The villagers have armed themselves.

And then he saw them. A hundred yards or so in front of him, illuminated by the intensity of the flames around them, a crowd was gathered, spears and clubs in hand, anger and confusion on their faces.

"There he is!"

At that shout, which rang over the clamor of other voices, attention of the entire party was drawn, and they pointed their weapons at him, then charged. He froze. He was helpless as a restless mob rushed towards him, promising to put him in his place for some misdeed he had committed. Did they have the right person? Didn't they know he was trying to find them, that he was simply seeking refuge? Did they think he had ransacked the city? Even under these dire circumstances, he couldn't help but scoff at the notion that somehow he had caused this. One man flailing through the streets could not cause chaos. Especially if that one man was Aloric Maluil.

But these rioters seemed certain that they had found the right man. "You there, stranger!" A familiar voice called out to him. He recognized the guard he had greeted as he had passed into Estolad. "This is your doing!"

They suddenly stopped around him, encircled him, just as the wolves had threatened to do earlier. He pointed to his chest, a frightened and clueless look on his face. "Me?"

That drew their ire even more, as if he should have known the answer to the question before he asked it. Regardless, they responded. "Yes you, stranger! You led these beasts to our town. They followed you to our doorstep!"

He wanted to continue being oblivious to what was going on, but he no longer could. The pieces were coming together, the chain of events were starting to make sense. The beasts - the wolves - had pursued him here. Even while they had surrounded him at the clearing, the other members of the pack had ripped through Estolad, claiming it as their own in an attempt to locate their prey. Locate him.

He had caused this.

"There's no place for you in this town!" one cried out. "We saw them arrive shortly after you got here. And as they barreled through our streets unchecked, you were nowhere to be found. Coward! We thought you had fled. And now you'll wish you did."

He knew what they planned to do - their raised weapons gave them away. He wouldn't let it come to that. "As long as I'm here, they won't leave your town alone. I can promise you that. You have to let me go. For your sakes."

But even with his vehement protests, the rioters seemed intent on dealing with him then and there. With unintelligible cries they closed him in even more. As they encircled him he afforded one final glance around the area, hoping for any salvation to come to his aid. He never found it.

Ferdibrand had barely made it around the corner of the barn when Aloric tensed, and looked with wide-eyed fear at the surrounding trees. "I think we need to run," he said, his nervousness cascading from his tensed muscles to his mount, and causing her to prance warily. Rièle turned back toward the trees, and her ears heard low growls emanating from the throats of the approaching wolves. The pack had returned, and was intent upon its chosen prey.

Aloric was attuned to their purpose, and had thoughts only of escape. With inexpert control he whirled his mount and bid her flee, in the direction of the nearby village. "Aloric, no!" Rièle shouted, but her words were too late, and he was far too scared to hear them. The mare took off at a terrified gallop, and had taken only a few strides before Aloric lost his balance in the saddle and fell to the ground. Somehow he landed unharmed, for he leapt up and continued sprinting toward the village.

Leaving Rièle alone, holding Erling; a load of grain upon his back.

She dared reach out her mind, fighting to ignore the pull of the wolves and summon Jack, who grazed in a nearby field. Unarmed and unable to outrun her foes, she released Erling and turned to face the wolves, knowing that the threat of harm from a human was more likely to deter their attack than turning her back upon them and marking herself as prey. The beasts emerged from the trees at a run, their eyes wide and intent upon Aloric's back, and their thoughts filled with the smell of him, and the desire to take pleasure in ripping his meat from his bones.

Most of the pack ignored Rièle, for she did not carry the scent of the prey they sought. One of the younger wolves, however, caught her sent, and turned toward her. He charged, teeth bared and ears pinned, and with a snarl leapt upon her chest and opened his jaws, intent upon sinking his teeth into her neck. She blocked his bite with her forearm, and he clamped his jaws down upon it, painfully drawing blood and tearing tender flesh. Erling screamed in rage, and kicked at the attacking wolf in an attempt to drive it away, deft and careful not to hit Rièle. She cried out from the pain, but remained resolved, and used the wolf's grip upon her arm to bring his eyes to hers. She opened her mind to him, and used her power to command his young and insecure thoughts. Release me, now! she screamed at the wolf. He released his hold upon her, shocked at her assertion, and deferentially backed away, his head lowered. His body language transmitted his uncertainty, and told Rièle that he was expecting retribution for attacking a superior wolf.

Erling was prepared to dole out such, for he stood beside Rièle, pawing at the ground threateningly and huffing into the air. Leave, she commanded the wolf, and wait for your brothers in the glade.

As the wolf trotted away, his tail between his legs, Rièle grasped her arm in an attempt to stop the wound from bleeding. Erling became calm, and sniffed her cautiously, and she returned his gesture with a grateful patting of his muzzle. "You are brave, for a pack-horse," she told him, her words showing admiration. "I thank you for your help." Erling seemed to accept this praise proudly, for he held his head high in triumph.

Jack cantered up to them, and having sensed the danger immediately smelled Rièle to ensure she was unharmed. Rièle greeted him, and quickly led both horses into the adjacent barn. She took a leg wrap and quickly bandaged her bleeding arm, and then removed Erling's pack, sending a question to his mind. Will you help me rescue that human from the wolves? His response was enthusiastic assent, and he seemed to heartily enjoy this excitement, and the opportunity to show his worth.

Rièle saddled Erling, and then leapt upon Jack bareback, wrapping her fingers in his mane. The three of them galloped to the village, now minutes behind Aloric and the wolves. It seemed the ranger had outrun the wolves and entered the safety of the village, for Rièle's mind sensed the wolves lurking in the grasses nearby; waiting. They caught her scent, but she crossed the distance too quickly on horseback for them to consider giving chase.

A riot was in place. Rièle was instantly concerned, for Aloric was surrounded by angry villagers, and stablehands from Turokko's. It was clear that the villagers knew about the wolves, and were bent on driving Aloric away to rid themselves of the predators. Why are these wolves so intent upon killing him? Rièle asked herself, but it seemed that question would have to wait until later.

She proposed a scenario to Erling, and the great war-horse pranced excitedly, raised his head, and pawed the ground, elated that such a brave and worthy task was delegated to him. Rièle reminded him that Aloric could not sit the saddle properly, but the horse seemed uninterested in this fact as he took of for a gallop straight for the mobbing townsfolk.

With a prayer that all would go as planned (and that Aloric's grip was stronger than his resolve), Rièle galloped to the other side of the village, and waited. If Erling succeeded, he would break through the mob and bring Aloric to her.

Not a minute later, Erling came cantering down the road with Aloric clinging desperately to his back. The horse slowed as he left the town, and stopped as he drew up alongside Jack. Rièle glared slightly at Aloric for his incompetence, the pain in her arm reminding her of how he'd abandoned her for his own safety. She leaned over and snatched a rope from Erling's saddle, and began wrapping it around his waist. With a series of knots and loops she anchored Aloric securely to the saddle. "There. Now, stay this time," she said irritably. She needed to get him away from the villagers, and quickly enough so that the wolves could not follow.

Turning Jack down the road, she prepared to lead Aloric away from the town, only to find their path barred. The wolf pack emerged from the grasses in front of them, crouching as they walked along the ground, their teeth bared and hunters' eyes upon the humans.

Oh, no. Rièle thought. She'd brought her staff this time, and pulled it from the sling on her back, preparing to defend herself and Aloric. Erling took a war-horse's stance, ready to kick out and break the skull of any wolf that approached or tried to leap upon his rider.

Rièle's mind slipped open, and she found herself drawn into the wolf-dream, running with the pack. She again breathed in their scent, and smelled the blood of their prey, and her heart quickened with theirs as they drew close. We hunt man, they thought together, and Rièle found herself turning toward Aloric, thinking of tearing his flesh with her teeth....

"NO!" she screamed, fighting the pull of the wolves. But they were strong, and so many surrounded her, brushing up against their mind, sharing their emotions with her, daring her to join them. Unknowingly she dropped her staff, and placed her hands upon her head, trying to steady her dizziness, to stay herself, to retain her own will amidst those of so many others....

Jack and Erling perceived Rièle's distress, and acted. Jack sidestepped quickly, easily upsetting Rièle's unsteady seat upon his back so that she fell to the ground beneath his feet. He stood over her and followed Erling's lead, preparing to kick and bite any wolf who came near them. Erling screamed as the wolves leapt upon them, calling his master for aid.

Ferdibrand doggedly clung to the girth-strap, his strength and manna restoring through the strength of his rage. When at long last they drew to a stop outside of Estolad, Ferdibrand was breathing heavily, and could feel the sweat covering his entire body, and he was not happy about it. He fell flat on his back, and kicked there as helplessly as a tortoise for a moment, the breadth of his shield too wide for him to roll over easily, which really got his temper going, stranded as he was. Eventually he got onto his side, and rubbed his bruised ribs, having rolled onto the haft of Buster, his great hairy feet in front of him.
A deadly-serious thrum emanated from the wolves that barred their way, explaining the choice of place to stop, and at any other point in time, Ferdibrand might have had the sense to be afraid. Perhaps even very afraid. But a very different Ferdibrand indeed faced the situation; though he appeared as little more than a shadow. Astride a superb gelding, Ferdibrand had the time to remark to himself, Rièle brandished her staff, like some image of a warrior-queen from an Age of Old. Erling, hard-wired for combat, still bearing the Ranger upon his broad back, had shifted the bulk of his weight onto his vast hind-quarters, his fore-legs ready to strike like catapults.
Ferdibrand shook his head, something really serious was going on, he muttered crossly to himself, and he had thrown himself into the thick of it. Wolves acting up like Brigands! What next? Dragons I don't suppose? The hobbit muttered venomously. I think its high time I was heading home for a bit. Ferdibrand thought of long quiet breakfasts in the sun, of well-ordered gardens, and the company of folk whose answers could be guessed well in advance of having been asked a thing. But his reverie was to be interrupted.
From above his right shoulder he perceived the rush of Rièles' Will but this time she was met with something forceful and blind and terrible, "NO!" she screamed, and dropped her staff; and even Ferdibrand shuddered, eyeing the wolves with utter impatience.
The horses, quickened by Rièles' distress, burst into action.She must be a Beast-master Ferdibrand thought, though with a nicer touch than any I've seen before. Finally, a Beastmaster with some finesse! he thought even as she fell gracelessly from the saddle, like a sack of potatoes.
Of course everything was happening at once, the hobbit-ranger was positively ticking-cross now, but Ferdibrand, of anyone -and even he had to admitt it, had time to spare.
In a blur, the Iuithiolvar caught Rièle before she landed, and dragged her beneath the towering Erling -who had been trained to stand thusly above his master, like a tower, whilst Ferdibrand issued from beneath his protection.
Erling screamed."Alright mister Erling. Don't be getting yourself in a lather!" Ferdibrand thought out loud, unbelting Buster with an extremely business-like expression on his face.

The wolves, in the mean time, had almost completed their first step.

Time, of course was passing as slowly as the cycle of the moon seems to- and Ferdibrand, feeling especially Ferdibrandish, knew how to take advantage of that. He dug his hand into Erlings saddle-bags, and took out the baling-twine he used to bundle the alfalfa. The poor wolves, for all their terror and might, didn't stand a chance against someone who could move so that even an arrow moved more ponderously that the sap in the bark of trees.
Not having the heart, in spite of his foul mood, to harm the wolves, he moved as quickly as he was able, and before anyone could see it, he had bound the wolves legs, whilst they all seemed to hang in the air mid-step. The twine would not bind them for long; but then, Ferdibrand was not worried about time.
As his grip over the moment was released, and the wolves, every last one of them pitched nose-first into the dirt -Ferdibrand allowed himself the nasty pleasure of watching that- he turned and glared up at the ranger, and down at Rièle in turn. Indeed even Erling shied away from Ferdibrands' withering gaze; whose hands were propped, crossly, on his hips.
"Right," said Ferdibrand Rumble, putting on his sharpest tone, which is what he thought of as sounding like you mean business "You ser... ser Ranger-what-ever-your-name-be;" he floundered, clicking his fingers impatiently,"What exactly is your name; what on earth are you doing on my war-horse, and what," Ferdibrand chucked his thumb over his shoulder, "Is this mischief with these here wolves all about?" He looked at them all, and felt a crushing sense of being too tired and battered to deal with anythig properly at that moment in time, least of all the dramas of Big People. "Oh never mind, come along Erling; you ser Ranger you stay put; if you fall out of the saddle I'll teach you a lesson you'll never forget, ever! Do you hear me? Miss Rièle, on your feet, you're as safe as can be hoped, for the moment. That arm looks like it could do with a bit of leech-craft, and I've a cousin what's got the touch. Follow me."

His salvation came charging through the crowd. The hobbit's steed appeared suddenly, leaping from the shadows like a thief in the night, whinnying and neighing against the discordant voices of the roused citizens. Aloric wasn't sure what it was, but something compelled him to actually utilize this opportunity instead of watch it pass him by as he stood helplessly surrounded by an angry mob. He reached out with his hand and grabbed hold of Erling's side. His eyes widened as he was unexpectedly (though he probably should have expected it) carried away from the rioters by a momentum not of his own. As the horse continued racing away from Aloric's captors, the ranger dug his fingernail's into the animal and pulled himself onto its back. Before he knew it, he was once again in the presence of Rièle.

And the revelation of what he had done hit him. Her forearm appeared badly injured, marred by some vicious bite. He had abandoned her, had let her fate be decided by his most hated of enemies, instead choosing to flee and save what was left of his own, miserable life. A decision that had almost led to his doom, in the end. If it wasn't for Rièle, that is. It was funny - and scary - how things worked out.

She was mad, and had every right to be. Sheepishly he looked her in the eyes, but couldn't hold her gaze, and sunk his head in embarrassment. He was silent as she worked to secure him to the steed. "There. Now, stay this time."

He did.

---

Before he knew it, he was staring at the most helpless canines he had ever seen. Rièle, looking quite distressed. The hobbit from earlier had reappeared, as if magically. Aloric blinked. What had happened? He was still riding atop Erling. Looking down at his waist revealed that he was still secured to the saddle by the ropes. Why couldn't he remember those last few moments?

He knew the answer to his question nearly as soon as he asked it of himself. Glancing down at the wolves, their feet bound and rendering them immobile, he realized that the most likely explanation was that he had once more frozen up at the sight of the beasts. He would have kicked himself, if he were capable of the feat. Despite the fear, and the knowledge that the fear was well founded, he was angry. Angry at himself for once again failing to produce results in a moment of need. Angry for once more proving to his new acquaintances that he wasn't worth keeping around, though they seemed hellbent on keeping him there. The roped that bound him proved that.

"You ser... ser Ranger-what-ever-your-name-be;" the hobbit called out, bringing Aloric's attention back to their current predicament. "What exactly is your name; what on earth are you doing on my war-horse, and what is this mischief with these here wolves all about?"

So the rumours were true about these halfling creatures. They really were an inquisitive folk.

"Oh never mind, come along Erling; you ser Ranger you stay put; if you fall out of the saddle I'll teach you a lesson you'll never forget, ever! Do you hear me?"

It wasn't like Aloric had all that much of a choice. He nodded absentmindedly at the small man, his attention still focused upon the beasts that laid helpless on the ground. They whelped and cried, but were powerless to change their fate. He couldn't help but think that they looked so... pathetic. These vicious wolves, these infallible hunters, had just been defeated by a hobbit.

Were they as infallible as he had thought?

For years, he had done nothing but run away from the predators. They were the largest threat to his continued existence, a constant reminder of his past and of his shortcomings. But all this time, he had thought them to be invulnerable, some handiwork of a twisted god, impervious to damage at the hands of mortals. But in a blur, this Ferdibrand had managed to change all that. The ranger's reality had been shattered.

They can be defeated. They can be killed.

He spent the rest of the journey contemplating that.

The ground never struck.

Instead Rièle landed on something soft, and small, and soon she realized that it was in fact someone. Her tall form felt oddly balanced in his arms, and she was distantly amazed by the strength of the man, for he managed to hold her aloft despite his diminutive size. He then moved so quickly that she had little notion what had happened, and Rièle found herself being gently set down beneath the towering white war horse. Her head throbbed as she fought the minds of the wolves, and she held her head in an attempt to steady her disorientation.

The moments passed so quickly that she had not even time to gather her thoughts, and suddenly she sensed the wolves' distraction. She still felt them, frighteningly near, and still of stronger Will than she, but now plagued by a helpless distress, and bent on summoning the strength of their own pack rather than overwhelming the thoughts of another. Hesitating a little she opened her eyes, and found the ground as steady as it ever was, and Ferdibrand the hobbit standing over her, looking cross.

"Right," he said, taking in both Rièle and Aloric in his harsh, accusing glare. "You ser... ser Ranger-what-ever-your-name-be. What exactly is your name; what on earth are you doing on my war-horse, and what is this mischief with these here wolves all about?"

Rièle was puzzled, and stared oddly at the hobbit. Why ever was he ...angry? For he seemed to blame Aloric for the great amount of trouble that had passed, as the townsfolk chose to do, in their narrow-mindedness. Rièle looked tentatively over the hobbit's shoulder, and saw the forms of the poor trussed wolves, lying in the grass. A look of pity crossed her face, for she felt their helplessness, and their fear over a power possessed by this small hobbit, one that they could not fight nor comprehend. While she was grateful that they were not ripping her apart, and could not begin to express her relief and thanks to Ferdibrand, she felt strangely offended by the hobbit's tone, and by his actions.

Poor Aloric said nothing.

"Oh never mind," continued Ferdibrand. "Come along Erling, you ser Ranger you stay put, if you fall out of the saddle I'll teach you a lesson you'll never forget, ever! Do you hear me? Miss Rièle, on your feet, you're as safe as can be hoped, for the moment. That arm looks like it could do with a bit of leech-craft, and I've a cousin what's got the touch. Follow me."

She glanced up at Aloric, who looked strangely accepting of Ferdibrand's harsh words. With effort she pulled herself up from the ground, and steadied herself by holding onto Jack, who was close by. She retrieved her fallen staff, and slowly gathered both herself and her thoughts together. "Hold, ser Ferdibrand!" she said, with as strong a tone as she could manage in her shaken state. "You accuse as quickly as you move. I thank you deeply for the rescue, and I'm sure my friend here thanks you too, but hold."

Gradually catching her breath, she continued. "It was I who placed Aloric on your horse, and tied him there, there is no cause to yell at him. ....Well," she reconsidered softly, "perhaps there is some cause, for he could stand to think things through a little before acting," she said this with a brief irritated glance in Aloric's direction, and then returned her eyes to Ferdibrand. "I am sorry if I have offended you, sir, but please do not blame him for it."

She looked sadly down at the wolves, who lay whimpering nearby, chewing madly at their bonds in an attempt to free themselves, and to escape the enemy they feared. "I hear the thoughts of beasts, sir. Your ability is fearsome, for they cannot comprehend it, nor counter it. Knowing this, the only instinct left to them is fear, for you are their enemy." Her eyes grew distant, and sad, as she shared the feelings of the frightened wolves. "Have you any idea what it's like for a free-roaming beast to be tied so by a man?"

After several moments the focus returned to her eyes, and she spoke softly again to Ferdirand. "They only follow their instincts. Perhaps something isn't right..." she glanced at Aloric, speculatively, "but it isn't their intention. Beasts are merely beasts."

"Now, friend, if I may call you such? I would like to properly thank you for our rescue, and your kind offer to follow you to your cousin's. Please, since you have lent your horse to Aloric, ride with me on Jack. We are both light, and he won't mind the extra weight."

But as Rièle moved to offer her hands to help Ferdibrand mount, she sensed a freedom of thought from the wolves behind her, and whirled around to find that the first had already broken free. The others were not far behind, and they seemed torn; wanting to chase after Rièle and Aloric, but terrified of Ferdibrand and his strange power. Rièle looked at Ferdibrand for guidance, deferring to whatever strategy he might have, for he was the strongest of them.

Ferdibrand said a word to Erling, and instructed Rièle to let the war-horse lead them to his cousin's village. He then rolled up his sleeves, and turned to face the oncoming wolves.

Rièle swung herself astride of Jack, and followed Erling as he led them at a canter down the road, away from Estolad. After a time they continued at a slow jog slowly down the road, and they traveled in peace, unpursued by wolves or men. Once the chance of pursuit had lessened Rièle began favoring her wounded arm, and as the hours passed it grew swollen and bruised, and her blood dried in a thick coat upon it.

A cool breeze picked up, and the horses began to prance eagerly in their excitement and enjoyment of the day. Erling and Jack seemed to get along well; they had quickly established that Erling was the horse-in-charge, and the moment Jack had dropped his head in deference they began walking side by side like the best of friends. Rièle held Jack back in his eagerness, for she knew he longed to gallop, but should Jack take off Erling would surely want to follow, and poor Aloric would be dragged along on a very painful ride. As it was she didn't envy the pain he would be in when he dismounted.

Fortunately the village was quite near, and soon the horses' eagerness waned as they took in the strange sights and sounds of the unfamiliar place. Rièle looked upon the village as curiously as they. She suddenly felt as if they were walking too fast, and that her eyes and ears couldn't possibly take in a place so interesting and different all at once. Turning around in the saddle, her eyes met Aloric's briefly, and she blushed, thinking how silly she must look. But her curiosity would hardly be satisfied by staring straight ahead at the road, so she smiled brightly, and continued taking in as much as she could.

Everything was marvelously... small. Rièle nearly laughed aloud at the obviousness of the thought, but it was true. And yet there were occasional things mixed in from the world of men, that, much like Erling to Ferdibrand, made the scene both odd and familiar all at once. She marveled at the hobbits' ingenuity, for while a tall person would likely find it inconvenient to be small, they made life as such seem perfectly wonderful.

Her eyes were taken in by how they blended themselves in with nature, for this was truly a place of the plains. They planted gardens like nothing she had ever seen, with plants and trees that belonged and thrived there. Their beasts were mostly small, some dwarf-breeds, but many ordinary sheep and goats among them. A tiny black goat with a bell around its neck leapt into the road before them, a child in pursuit. Jack planted his feat in surprise as the offending beast leapt out before him, and he seemed withdrawn in terror as the little creature looked upon the party and gave a lost little sound of "Maaaaah." Jack cautiously brought his head down, his muscles tense and ready for flight at a moment's warning, and whuffed deeply through his nose as he took in the threatening, foreign scent of goat. Rièle laughed at him, and patted his neck. "She's not going to eat you," she told him fondly, and they watched the little child lead the goat away.

Ferdibrand's cousin's house was beside a huge grain field, and Rièle breathed in the smell of fresh-cut grass. Ferdibrand himself was waiting for them at the nearest junction of the road, and seemed only to have just arrived. Aloric and Rièle dismounted by a little fence that surrounded both the garden and the house, and Rièle removed Jack's hackamore, letting him wander off to graze. Thinking with some small concern of both the gardens and the hobbits' grain stores, she sent a thought after him to stay out of trouble. He ignored her, quite intent on lunch.

It took several minutes to unknot the ropes that bound Aloric to his saddle, but Rièle eventually managed to free him. She helped him down, and winced as she observed the stiffness in his legs. Given that he had no seat or muscles yet for riding, he would likely find himself bruised when he woke in the morning. "I'm sorry for tying you up," she said, feeling terrible for subjecting him to such discomfort. "I was... a bit upset earlier."

They hardly had time for talk, however, as a young woman bounded eagerly out of the house to greet them. Rièle at first assumed this must be Ferdibrand's cousin, but from the look on her friend's face, she realized that it wasn't. "Dibs!" the woman shouted, and Rièle noted the unpleasant expression on Ferdibrand's face at the sound of his nick-name. The young woman put her hands on her hips accusingly, but was clearly a light-hearted creature, and was attempting to be charming. "What took so long? And what's all this rabble you have with you? Big People? There you go again, off having adventures in the big world, getting into trouble... even running into things that are exciting... what are you thinking? Your cousin doesn't think like you, you know! You're just going to get him riled up again... and bringing back Big People with you!"

Rièle didn't think the young girl's charms were intended for her, directly, but she found the girl enchanting all the same. She smiled knowingly at Dibs, for the girl was clearly infatuated with him, and cleared her throat politely. "I'm sorry, miss, if we're intruding. Ferdibrand here rescued us from some trouble in Estolad this morning. He was really quite gallant and brave to do so, and we're very grateful to him. I promise we won't be much trouble."

The young girl blushed, and eyed Ferdibrand with even more affection (if that was possible). Her eyes then fell upon Rièle's arm, and she gasped. "Oh, you're hurt! Dibs, why didn't you say anything! Come inside, all of you! She quickly turned and led them into the little house. It was fashioned of wood, and clay, and dirt, and built into the great rolling mounds of the earth that made up the plains. The inside was not very large, Rièle guessed there were perhaps three rooms in the back, plus a kitchen and a sitting-room. She and Aloric had to duck in order to enter, and both had to hunch in order to walk about the rooms. It was much more comfortable sitting, and the young girl directed Rièle to a kitchen chair, and put some water in a kettle over the fire.

"Dibs, don't leave that dirty axe lying on the floor where your guests will trip on it, for goodness sake!" Rièle smiled again; the girl seemed to enjoy chiding Ferdibrand at every opportunity. "Would any of you like some tea? My name is Merigold Swallows, but everyone calls me Merie. I don't live here, that is, I'm not Dibs' cousin," she blushed, "I just look after the garden and things."

Rièle smiled. "I'm Rièle. And the quiet one beside me is Aloric."

Merie poured the boiling water into a deep pan, and placed it on the table. She guided Rièle's bloody forearm into the scalding water, and began washing it gently with a rag. Rièle gasped and winced painfully, and her eyes began to water, but she sat quietly while the girl worked, and was glad for the soft touch of her hands.

Ferdibrand rolled back his sleeves and confronted the wolves. He eyed the one of them he deemed to be the alpha, still flailing with his legs bound, and stepped close enough to catch the scent of his breath, upon which was borne a world of shifting emotions and scent-images.
Perhaps from his long communion with trees, in the long study of his Iuithiolvar magery, something of the distaste and mistrust of Trees for Beasts and Peoples had rubbed off on Ferdibrand, as much as any unfriendliness is going to stick to a Hobbit. Ferdibrand was still, and would always be a Hobbit, imbued -by nature- with an indomitable hobbit-sense, and willingness to live and let live.
Still he found himself shaking his head What's all this business anyway? he mused crossly, trying to breathe as much calm into the Alpha. Ferdibrand tried to conjure the means to communicate with the wolves. The Breath-sense had its' limitations... Ferdibrand had to try and imagine the scent he needed to communicate what he was trying to say, slowly the two of them began to come to an understanding; it was like trying to speak to one another each in their native languages, similar and yet fundamentally different. Some things they instantly shared, others took long moments of flickering scents and emotions to conjure the rough shape of what they were trying to explain. But the extremely elaborate layers of scent, by which wolves understand many things was ultimately lost on Ferdibrand; any more than the significance of the shape of a mountain is conceivable to a wolf. Ferdibrand could not ascertain from whence the wolves had come, nor get from them any clear sense of their purpose.
The Wolf seemed to calm a little. At this time your strength holds the territory, the wolf related, But we hunt, and will go on hunting, and your strength will not always be there to stop us. was their plain and simple agreement to disagree.

He stood like a pillar until the wolves had all ambled away, their shapes melting at length into the grasslands. It would help that the ranger had been borne away on Erlings' back -presumably they lacked the cunning to follow the scent of a riders horse. It would take the wolves, regardless of their numbers and resolve, a long while to find his scent again either on the wind or on the trail. The little hobbit stared, brows knitting, projecting the extent of his senses into the distant trees and grasses, a bead of sweat appearing from beneath the gleaming leather of his helm as he exerted himself to catch a sign of the wolves. But even the grasses were barely aware of them. He shook his head at the queerness of it all, and delved his Will into the earth beneath his feet, and there sprouted and blossomed a bramble, which flourished and burgeoned into the most remarkable and strangely stunted tree imaginable. But as suddenly as it had grown the tree shook itself, and drew breath, breaking free of its roots; a tall lanky hound of living wood pranced a few eager steps, and came, nosing to its masters' hand. If any body wondered why Ferdibrand never actually rode his war-horse, that was because he was reluctant to let any body learn of this particular ability. He swung onto the tall hounds shoulders, where tendril-like vines grew like the high stirrups of a race-horse, and the wood-hound bounded away with a teriffic howl of its resonant voice.
They passed like a wind over the grasslands, the wood-hound knowing the lands well, better even than Erling, and having the matchless and tireless strength of a golem summoned by a powerful Will. In the distance, seemingly but a short while later, such was the wood-hounds speed, and the depth of Ferdibrands darkling inflection. He saw Erling leading them all safely to the door of his cousins homely house. With a terrific leap the hound bounded over the fence, into Cousin Gorhendads' garden, tearing a great weal out of the lettuce patch with the sliding halt. Ferdibrand openly winced, even as the golem vanished back into the soil, for his foot prints would lead away from the damage, ad he would never hear an end of it from Merie.
He shook his head, growling, not without a little pleasure deep inside, at the imminent fuss he was about to endure. He met Rièle and the ranger, nodding to them, but before he could say a word to answer their expressions of surprise at his appearance there came ringing, like the voice of bells, the familiar voice. ""Dibs!"" every head turned, Ferdibrand scowled, falling into the old routine of staving off Meries adorations, and the use of his nick-name. "What took so long? And what's all this rabble you have with you? Big People? There you go again, off having adventures in the big world, getting into trouble... even running into things that are exciting... what are you thinking? Your cousin doesn't think like you, you know! You're just going to get him riled up again... and bringing back Big People with you!"
Ferdibrands' mouth fluttered, for all his various remarkable powers, he had never been able to get the best of Merie, but for a feigned demeanour of impatience and distraction.
Thankfully Rièle came to his rescue, "I'm sorry, miss, if we're intruding. Ferdibrand here rescued us from some trouble in Estolad this morning. He was really quite gallant and brave to do so, and we're very grateful to him. I promise we won't be much trouble."
Ferdibrand might have been properly pleased, but whether Rièle knew it or not, Ferdibrands cousin was not from the Rumble side of the family, who were proper Aginwood Hobbits going back to the Dark Old Days. Their family openly went on adventures, and constituted the body of the strength of arms, often travelling to the stronghold of the Dwarves in the mountains to the west, as Ferdibrand had done himself.
Gorhendad could not be less Rumble-ish. He would be somewhere, listening in, with his frightfully accurate memory. And this mention of Adventures, and Acts of Bravery would end up in trouble, if Gorhendad had anything to do with it; and of course, as the Head of the Two-Families, Gorhendad had something to do with Everything. Voted Mayor for twenty years in a row, Gorhended was the picture of a healthy and sensible Hobbit. Only his sensibilities differed from those of wayfaring and danger-daring Ferdibrand, who would get another lengthy telling-off for sure, and endure the uncomfortable silence, in Meries expectant presence, as to when he would settle down.
Ferdibrand sighed, having looked in Meries direction, feeling, as if with the full force of the Breath-sense the blazing heart Merie cultivated for him. Ferdirband positively dragged his feet inside of the house, reminding the Ranger to watch his head as they entered. He scuttled back outside to deposit his battle axes outside, and settled at the table, waiting for the onslaught to begin.
Meries fabulously deft and skilful hands tended to Rièles' wounds. Ferdibrand had to admire the woman, even if she was a Big Person. The wounds were not unsubstantial. Thankfully the fangs had not caught any of her major blood-vessels, or there would have been trouble indeed. But something funny was going on, he recalled her stern words in defence of the wolves. He'd never known anyone who retained much admiration for a wolf after they'd been savaged by one.
He looked at the ranger, and leaned out with the cookie-pot, sharing a grimace and a knowing look with the ranger. He didn't know why he felt that way, but it appeared as if, with two women-folk in the room, it seemed that they were now in it together, whatever they were in.