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Message: <blockquote data-quote="Dlsharrock" data-source="post: 4307595" data-attributes="member: 55833">"What's going on there?" Bellows Granthan, a large and officious member of the camp and one of several who are approaching now. Most who know Granthan know he secretly desires Baran's post as foreman and has a high standing with traders in Lake-Town and Dale. The Man strides purposefully toward the Dwarf and his fallen quarry. His great belly and obnoxious air preceding him. Two others are also running over, Gellion, a pasty faced lad, full of courage but considered by most at the camp to be something of an oddity (his greatest crime being to fraternise with Elves, even though by this trait has a talented healer become known to the camp and saved many of its Men from wounds or poison - Thalion being his name). Ahead of Gellion comes Belfalor, a tall sinewy Man of sharp eyes, fussy ways and long legs. Neither these two worthies speak as they come. Granthan speaks enough for all: "what's all this noise of thieves and who in the four climes of Esgaroth left that work horse unattended? I'll flay his backside with my belt!"The 'who' in question barges his way through bush and branch, thorny twigs and nettles slashing at his face and hands, uneven ground and tangled roots threatening to trip him up as he runs. Ahead, through the dense green and growing darkness, he can still see the three burglars, dashing with greater ease than he through the trees and bushes, weaving between trunk and branch and blending in their dark clothes with the shadowy background of the forest.Aerec listens for sounds of others following him, but all he can hear is the sound of his own noisy passage through the undergrowth and the staccato beat of his own heart pounding in his ears. His pursuit slows and he watches with no small frustration as the burglars escape. The ease with which they disappear so soundlessly into the depths of the forest is almost supernatural. In their stead is left an eery stillness.'Flay his backside with my belt?' Baran narrows his eyes at the approaching Man. "You do that," he says, teeth tight, not looking. "In the meanwhile, make yourself useful and get -umph - I mean - grab some men and check the rest of the camp. We may have rustlers about!"His blue gaze finds the eyes of the other two in turn, "Gell, you get us some rope, fast."Gellion nods urgently "yes foreman Baran!" then dashes back the way he came.Belfalor, young Aerec just shot through the woods, he'll need your help."Around this gathering group Belly, Baran's loyal labrador, circles and barks excitedly.Belfalor stops near the Dwarf and stares toward the treeline."Go!" The dwarf insists."The horsemaster returns, without triumph" Belfalor says simply, indicating, with a nod of his head, Aerec emerging from the forest."Ah," admits the foredwarf, "so he does."Aerec is disappointed. He knows that pursuing the burglars further into the woods would prove dangerous and likely fruitless, but he can't shake the feeling of failure. 'Oh well, at least we chased them off, whoever they were. They won't soon be back', he thinks to himself.As he approached the edge of the forest, he heard the exchange between Baran and Granthan. 'Great, just what I need. I answer the dwarf's call and I'm going to be blamed for it. Besides, I know more about horses than that blowhard knows about his own backside. Stumpy is just fine, and there's no way that plodder is going anywhere. We could leave him out for a week and he'd still be in the same place as long as there was food and water close by'. With a scowl and the stance of a man ready to be challenged he approaches the group. "The others got away, I'm sorry to say. I think there were three more of them, but they were so small and fast that I can't even swear to that," he notices the dwarf grappling one of the burglars. "What do they look like when they're held still?" Baran shows him, though "still" is not a word he'd have used. "Good run, lad," he shoots as an aside, "Beat me by quite a few bowshots. Hold QUIET!" That last downwards : it's getting barren hard to speak over the din coming from the thief's seemingly small mouth.And from the other sides comes an even bigger mouth.Granthan stares at the burglar. "What unnatural thing is this? The shadows of Mirkwood conspiring to take form? Walking among us, the colour of night no less!" "Very little walking, Gran" happily grouses the dwarf, now that things are once more under control, "mostly dashing, and wriggling, and savaging properties not their own."Meanwhile the captured thief continues to sob and beg for his life, and so Baran squeezes closer, muscles bunching : "Quieter, I said," this time gentler, close in the ear. "Later. Later is the time for talk."Granthan's eyes switch from the burglar to the approaching Horsemaster, "and you" he points, "if you dare leave your duties again you'll pay for it with this season's wage, maybe next season's too!" There's a sideways nature to the fat man's admonishment. He stares, but his eyes flick away from Aerec as though nervous of the other's obvious strength and potential.Belfalor catches Aerec's eye and shakes his head, silent yet eloquent: 'take my advice lad - don't react.'Baran just looks, interrested. If he had a hand free, he'd have scratched his ear.Elswhere, ropes are soon forthcoming and the female thief is bound. Given the sheer number of hands now gathering around this is no difficult feat. The tall, gangly youth named Gellion rubs a hand across his mouth and stares wide-eyed at the girl on the floor. "Is... is she... dead?". His questioning eyes slide over Ulfang (pretty much a stranger to the youngster), and alight instead on Aurvandil the knight, with whom Gellion has had passing cause to work in the past.Aurvandil seems aloof, however, and appears to ignore the youngster's query, or perhaps not to hear him. "Take the rest of your rope to the foredwarf" he orders. Gellion's face reddens and he shuffles nervously from foot to foot, wondering if he has spoken out of turn. He is about to do the knight's bidding when there comes a rustle in the bushes; little more than what would be caused by a light breeze, but the Men of the camp are unnerved by the burglary and all eyes dart toward the treeline. When they look back to their own numbers, Aranel is standing just inside the circle of light from the torches they hold. Her dark eyes flick over most of them, dismissive and quick. Most of the Men shrink back, eyeing her with suspicion, even fear. Gellion, ever the odd straw, gazes upon the newcomer with unconcealed admiration.Aranel's generous lips curve into a wry smile.</blockquote>

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