Logs-Cart Calamity

Bree's Healing House - Front Yard
In front of the healing house is a narrow cobble stone walkway that wends its
way from Broadway to the double front door of Bree's Healing House. On one
side of the path is a yard filled with lush green grass and a rambling rose
garden. On the other side are neat rows of medical herbs, each one clearly
labeled with a little sign. Along the cobble stone path are two benchs for
guests to sit upon. One is human sized and the other the right height for
hobbits. On the front of the Healing House is a small brass plaque that
reads: "HEALING HOUSE OF BREE - NO WEAPONS ALLOWED". This is an exception to
Bree officials of course!

Just to one side of the house, you see a small shed with a swinging front door.
It is just big enough to serve as a stable for the healers of the house.

Obvious exits:
Healing House and Out

================================== Bree Time ==================================
Real time: Wed Jan 28 01:44:11 2004
Bree time: Late Morning <about 10 AM> on Highday of Spring - April 21,1431
Moon Phase: Full Moon

Breelands Weather
The late morning spring air is cool but pleasant around you. The sky is clear
and the sunlight shines brightly.
===============================================================================

Bree is graced with another beautiful spring morning - the sky overhead is cloudless,
with only the faintest hint of a breeze, and the air is mild and pleasant. So
mild, in fact, that old Hugh Bramblefleece pauses in the gateway to mop at
his forehead (it's a long way up the road from the Stone Houses, after all).
He's not alone: seems he's been chatting to the driver of the small wood-cart
that now stands outside the gate.

"... in for a good summer," the fellow is saying. "You mark my words. Now ...
you goin' to help me unload?"

Hugh stares from driver to Healing House with a pained expression on his face,
and leans on his staff with a groan that's probably exaggerated. "Eh ... I
need time ta get me breath back," he protests, panting. "'Sides, it ain't
good fer these old joints ta carry heavy loads."

Up toward the Healing House walks (though nearly skipping) Megan- curls
bouncing about on her shoulders (once again there are flowers placed here and
there stategically)- cheeks flushed and eyes alight. Almost past the
wood-cart and already entering the Front yard to the Healing House she
pauses, hearing the words exchanged between Hugh and the driver, turning
around with a very professional air, and looking the old man over briefly.
"G'mornin' Mr. Bramblefleece.. sir," she moves her gaze to the cart-driver,
"I don't reckon you ought t' be askin' him to be liftin' anything- certainly
not safe- he could injure himself, yes indeed!"

Hugh beams as Megan vindicates his words. "Why, good mornin' ta ye, Mrs
Tasselberry-Thatcher - beautiful day it is, too. Think I'll jist take a seat,
give this old body a rest, eh?" He wanders happily towards one of the benches
that look out onto the herb garden.

The middle-aged (and perfectly fit-looking) driver, meanwhile, looks at Megan
indignantly. "An' you think it's safe for /me/ to be lifting this stuff?" he
protests. "I was told there'd be someone here to help me unload - can't see a
soul. Unless you'd like to help me out, of course - a strapping young lass
like yourself should have no problems." He gazes at her in what's almost a
challenge.

Megan smiles gently to Hugh, and then offers a rather dazzling, and rather
charming smile toward the driver as he asks his first question. "It's your
job, isn't it? You don't want to go ruinin' the backs of old men, do you?"
One hand is motioned casually toward Hugh sitting over on the bench. Now that
hand is reached up to brush a lock of curled hair off ehr shoulder and she
tilts her head, blinking with wide eyes toward the man- challenge in her own
eyes. "Me?! You'd make /me/ do the work?! Here I am.. I.. " she takes a deep
breath as if to calm herself, "I'm tryin' to do a bit of good for Bree, bein'
a healer and all, and here's you, wantin' to go and wreck /my/ back, on
account of you're too lazy to do it for yourself..." Brown eyes flick
skywards as she releases a sigh, before she turns her gaze to Hugh. "Can you
believe this, Mr. Bramblefleece!? Not only's he tryin' to get you to do the
work, but he'd think to make /me/ do it; rather'n doing it himself." Hands
are placed on her hips- one eyebrow arched in question.

The driver looks somewhat disappointed at Megan's response. "An' there I was
hoping ye were a helpful sort of girl - after all, here am I delivering wood
to the healers out of the goodness of my heart. If you're a healer, you
should have more concern for other people, Miss." He glowers, then shakes his
head. "Seems like I'll just have to go in and speak to the Healers myself -
you pair can at least watch my cart?" Without waiting for an answer, he
stomps off down the path and is gone.

Leaving Hugh alone with Megan. For once the old man seems in a good mood
(probably because he's got out of shifting wood), and he smiles up at the
woman. "Eh, I suppose it is a lot of work fer one man," he concedes once the
driver is out of earshot, then wonders nosily, "Now, what's this about you
bein' a healer? What in the world did ye say that for?"

"I /am/ a helpful sort of girl, sir," Megan chirps- again the perfect
embodiment of innocence (and helpfulness!), "But I aint goin' to wreck myself
doing something that it en't my job to do... I /can/ however, do that," she
says, giving a determined nod, now sidling to the front of the cart to pat at
the Pony's nose.

"It is a lot, but we can't do it... and.." an uncertain pause now as fingers
run lightly over the pony's face- a wondering smile on her own lips as she
regards the animal. "Well, I en't a healer yet, but I were comin' up here to
start bein' one.. that is, I haven't talked to them yet, but I were nursin'
Andrick a bit yesterday, and I thought of all the things mam had told me
about teas and herbs and things.. and well.." she trails off into
selfconcious muttering- directing her attention again to the Pony. Obviously
this isn't a decision she's completely comfortable with yet, and she
certainly isn't comfortable telling people about it!

The pony snorts, and butts its head affectionately at Megan's hand. Maybe she
has a juicy carrot or something?

Hugh shifts on the bench, tilting his face into the sun, and nods absently at
Megan's words. "That's nice," he murmurs, half-opening his eyes. "Healin' is
a good /respectable/ profession. Maybe ye'll be able to help me look after
the old joints when the winter comes on, eh?" His expression is hopeful ...
then he blinks. "Yer husband is ill?"

"I aint got nothin', Pony," Megan replies quietly, offering her hands out to
the Pony's nose as if to prove she had nothing worth eating (though this
probably won't help as she's been carrying around all kinds of sweet tarts
and things all morning...)

"I'd like to do it.. I mean, I saw that fellow in the Pony, and thought I
might be able to help.. though I wouldn't know /exactly/ what do to- they'd
be able to teach me some... and.. well, I'm certain I'd be able to help you-
mix p some teas and what-not," another of those oh-so-helpful smiles is
directed toward him, before she shakes her head quickly- "Oh no! He just had
a bit of a headache- strong ale, he said, but he felt better after a bit.. it
just got me thinkin', was all.."

The pony whickers sadly, snuffling at both of Megan's hands, and takes a step
forward, the cart coming with it. The chuck that the driver had wedged under
the rear wheel slips to one side.

Hugh, meanwhile, listens to Megan's words with obvious interest - and at her
last statement he lets out a sharp, "Hah!" A moment's pause, then he declares
to her self-righteously, "If a feller drinks too much strong ale, he ain't
got noone but himself ta blame. Deserves every bit o' misery he gets." (Does
he say the same when he's the one suffering the aftereffects of too much
drink? Somehow, that seems unlikely.) "As fer that other feller ... I reckon
ye'd need more than teas an' bandages ta do him good. If ye ask me," he
lowers his voice, taps his forehead, "I reckon he weren't quite all there
upstairs. Ye know ..."

"Pony, no!" Megan commands sternly; taking a hold of the reins and pushing the
animal back into place (causing more damage to the chuck?! Further upsetting
the cart!?), before she diverts her attention again and shakes her head
lightly. "He only had one mug full 's what he said we both thought it were
strange, but I didn't smell anythin' wrong with it," (Says she, who doesn't
even like to /drink/ ale, and obviously wouldn't be able to smell 'good' ale
from 'bad' ale...)"But he were wounded- I saw it, /and/ he said he were
looking for death, and I thought that maybe he were lookin' cos his wounds
were bad.. maybe. I don't know. I reckon that everyone can be fixed and made
good and proper again, with the right words and right people and stuff..."
Megan trails off, giving a shrug. Obviously the 'right words' would have to
come from her mouth, and the 'right people' would have to be her.. Maybe she
has a plan?!

The pony blows through its nostrils as it is pushed back, and retaliates by
starting to nibble at Megan's hair. Hugh chuckles at that, but doesn't rise
from his seat in the sun to assist her. "Hrrm ..." he mumbles. And then a
thought comes to him - an alarming thought, judging by the way he grabs at
his staff as though ready to leap up. "Ye don't think that furrin feller, the
wounded one that said he were a Dunlendin', put summat in the ale at the
Pony? Feelin' ill after one mug o' ale, now that don't sound right ta me."
Clearly Hugh's dislike for Andrick pales in comparison with his dislike for
'furriners'. "An' like I said, I reckon the feller weren't right in the head
..." His words trail off.

By this point the pony takes a step backwards ... and another. Odd, that. Is
the cart starting to slip?

With a giggle, Megan attempts to stop the pony from eating her hair. "I said
no! Look what you've done now! It's all slimey!" she scolds- tapping the
animal on the nose before attempting to do something about her hair while
talking to Hugh at the same time. "I don't reckon.. he didn't even say he'd
been to the Pony... and he fell asleep, then he woke up with a headache and
not feelin' the best.. he said it were just strong.. I, I don't reckon he put
anythin' in, anyway, even if he were funny in the head..." Megan glances back
to the pony as it moves away. "Pony, no. Stay still." she commands- pulling
gently at the reins- oblivious to all else except gazing dreamily at the
animal- as if she'd never seen a pony before.

Hugh gets creakily to his feet. "Need a hand there?" he wonders, gesturing to
the pony with his stick then starting to hobble forward. "Maybe he's smellin'
the flowers ye were wearin' the other day. Animals have an amazin' sense o'
smell, ye know." The subject of evil ale-poisoning 'furriners' is dropped for
the moment. "Speakin' of the other day, wasn't there summat I said I would
do? Talk ta Lucy about ... somethin' ..." The hand that's not holding the
staff rises to scratch at his head.

Megan's tug on the pony's reins seems to have little effect, for the beast's
hooves shuffle on the cobbles as it tries to maintain its current position -
and fails. The cart starts rolling slowly backwards ...

Megan shakes her head lightly- one new flower falling to the ground. "I've got
him, I-- Yes, you were meant to talk to her about the dancin', remember?
Megan shakes her head lightly- one new flower falling to the ground. "I've got
him, I-- Yes, you were meant to talk to her about the dancin', remember? We
could invite all them folks passin' through- like, the rangers.. and post a
sign at the Pony even and.." a pause now as the pony moves further away.
"Pony, I said.. Oh dear!" Holding on to the reins, she tries to pull the
animal forward gently.. "Mr. Bramblefleece.. I think.. Oh.." Already Megan is
nearly in a fluster and beginning to panic, and the cart has even gone
anywhere...Yet, it's conitnuing on its way backward..

Light dawns in Hugh's eyes as Megan mentions dancing. He doesn't get a chance
to respond to her, however, for the cart is continuing to slip. "Looks like
the whole cart's shiftin'," he comments, tilting his head. "Driver can't have
parked it properly. Where is the feller, anyways?" He frowns towards the
Healing House, losing valuable time, then hobbles towards Megan ... and past
her. He doesn't lay as much as a finger on the pony's reins, instead
continuing to wander towards the back of the cart. "Think ye can hold that
there beast a moment more?" he calls back cheerily.

"Is it!?" Megan squeaks nervously, meanwhile patting madly at the pony's nose
in an attempt to calm it (or calm herself, for the pony certainly hasn't
begun to panic too much yet). "I don't.. well yes, I can.. but what're you
doing? If it.. oh!" one hand is wrapped firmly about the reins and the girl
hops from one foot to the other- eyes glancing about- waiting for the owner
of the cart to show up.. Obviously she's expecting it to get out of control,
be blamed for it, and is already thinking up a story that will get her off
scott-free...

Megan heaves, the pony heaves ... its hooves are slipping on the cobbles now as
the cart starts to build up some momentum. And then Hugh, with a grunt, bends
down to thrust his staff through one of the rear wheels of the cart. There is
the sound of splintering wood - but the cart comes to a halt, seemingly his
method has worked. The pony, suddenly free of the cart's drag, whickers and
tries to push its nose towards Megan's hair again. Old Hugh, however, doesn't
even notice. He remains bent over awkwardly, one hand reaching behind him ...
"Oh, me back!"

"Mr. Bramblelfeece?!" Cries Megan, at the sound of splintering wood- perhaps
thinking that they'd run him down and that was the sound of his bones beneath
the wheels... She nearly abandons her post at the pony's nose but, looking
down, and through the wheels of the cart, she see's Hugh's legs there- and
presumes him upright and safe, rather than vertical and trapped somewhere
under the wheels. "Not my hair, Pony. You nearly got pulled away down the
hill. This isn't any time to be thinkin' about my hair." she scolds again-
pushing curls off her shoulders and out of his reach. "Mr. Bramblefleece?
Everythin' alright?! D'you need some help!?"

The pony, thwarted once more, gazes at Megan with big soulful eyes then gives
up and goes to pulling at a bit of grass that's lodged between the cobbles
instead (poor substitute for Megan's hair though it may be).

It's a moment before Hugh answers Megan. "Musta moved too fast, back's
complainin' ... can't ... straighten ... up." There is the sound of more wood
splintering, and the cart shifts a few inches. "Eh - ye'd better go get that
cart driver," Hugh realizes. "An' then I'd welcome a helpin' hand. Me staff
is all broken up," he adds mournfully, too.

"Sorry, Pony." Megan mutters- patting at its head, then at its neck as its head
moves to the ground. "Oh no!" she exclaims, as she hears of Hugh's ailment,
and then especially as she hears the wood snapping- perhaps assuming it to be
Hugh's back. "That doesn't sound good at all! In fact, that's terrible! We'd
best get you inside, I reckon.. If I take you in, we can get the owner and..
your staff is broke? Well, Do you want me to run inside and get some folks,
or d'you want me to help, or.. I don't know what to do!" Still she seems
unwilling to leave the pony- whether afraid to desert Hugh and have him run
down by the cart or unwilling to leave the pony who would be dragged along
behind isn't clear.

Fortunately Megan's dilemma is resolved, for at that moment the cart-driver
emerges from the Healer's House, looking slightly flustered but with an
eager-faced lad in tow. "Just along he- What have you been doing?" he demands
of Megan accusingly. "This ain't where I left the cart - you been trying to
move it or something?"

Hugh, meanwhile, clutches on to the edge of the cart, still in that odd bent
position, and doesn't say another word. Looks like Megan better do some
explaining ...

"I.. Oh dear," Megan glances up to see the man approaching; already the most
dazzling and innocent and sweet smiles lighting up her features. "No, I aint
been doin' anythin' mister. Your pony here, he were strugglin' under the
weight, and it rolled back, and I been watchin' it just like you said and
it's only on account of Mr. Bramblefleece here that it's not rollin' away
down the hill right now..."

The carter listens to Megan's tale with a dubious look on his face. "Mister
Bramblefleece? What did he do? Why's he all bent over like that? Here, I'll
help ye up, Hugh." He strides over to the old man, grasps at one arm and
heaves. The response is instantaneous - Hugh lets out a bellowed, "Aaagh!
Don't do that ... oh, me back. Help me, Mrs ... Megan." He's far too
flustered to worry about using polite surnames now.

The pony, meanwhile, lifts its head at the sound of Hugh's shout, and lets out
a disturbed neigh. And the lad brought out to help simply looks on to the
whole scene with a gawping grin.

Megan is at Hugh's side in a flash, and indeed moving to push away his
assailant (with as little violence as possible, of course) in order to free
Hugh. "It's alright, Mr. Bramblefleece! I'm here! Just calm down- there aint
no need to be worried. You- get off of him- you're not helpin' any. Can't you
/see/ he's got a bad back!?!?" she questions- standing tall and trying to
appear imposing (though failing a lot, due to her height and her appearance
in general- her one imposing feature being her eyes, as these are now fixed
and glaring at the man). "Mr. Bramblefleece, we need to get you inside or at
least sittin' down!" she says- trying to sound as calm as possible, and
offering out an arm to him to take.."And you there!" She rounds now on the
boy. "Don't just stand there- even the pony is getting worried by all this..
go settle him down."

The lad's mouth opens even wider at Megan's rounding on him - but he's not
smiling now. Offering a chastened, "Yes'm," he moves to obey.

The cart-driver is less easily cowed. "I was only trying to help," he responds
in an injured tone. "No need to take on so - here, what's this?" He's caught
sight of the remains of Hugh's staff wedged though the wheel of his cart, and
bends down to investigate, leaving Megan to deal with the old man herself.
Hugh by now is trembling and muttering, "Oh my ... oh my ..." even as he
reaches out a shaking hand towards Megan's arm. "Think it's best .. if ye get
me ..inside," he tells her. "Healers'll know what ta do ... guess ye'll have
another patient ta practise on." He tries to smile, but can't quite hide the
look of alarm at those last words. A patient? Of Megan?

And perhaps at those words there is a gleam of mischief that lights up Megan's
eye, though she does her best to conceal it beneath the calm mask as she
escorts the man up to the yard and toward the door. "Come now Mr.
Bramblefleece.. aint nothin' to worry about; we'll have you sorted out in a
minute.. just step up there and in we go.." she talks away, sounding /very/
professional, considering she hasn't even been accepted into the ranks yet!
Into the House they go.

Hugh trails along obedient as a lamb, clutching at Megan's arm. As they step up
and into the house, his worried-sounding voice drifts back. "Yer not goin' ta
do anythin' /too/ painful ta me, are ye?" And then the door bangs shut, and
we'll never know. Behind them the cart-driver looks up and calls, "Now, wait a
minute. If you've damaged my cart ... uh, never mind. We'll discuss this
later." Sounds like Hugh better hope that 'later' the carter is in a good
mood. "On with the unloading ..." He and the lad return to their original
task, of unloading and stacking wood.