Logs-Lovely View

Top of Bree Hill
The summit of Bree-hill provides magnificent views in every direction. West
over the village of Bree, about three hundred feet down, the tree-lined Great
East Road winds its way in the direction of the Shire. Just outside the
village is the Greenway Crossing, which heads both north and south into lands
unknown. Looking eastwards, the Chetwood Forest meets the descending feet of
the hill. Farther east, those with keen sight can see Weathertop, which lies
beyond the Midgewater Marshes and the plains yonder. Closer at hand to the
north east, are some sort of ruins, which lie overgrown with bushes. The
summit upon which you stand is reached by a path running north west and south
east, to Bree or Staddle, respectively.

Obvious exits:
NorthWest leads to Near the Top of Bree Hill.
SouthEast leads to Upper Staddle.

================================== Bree Time ==================================
Real time: Mon Dec 22 04:33:05 2003
Bree time: Early Evening <about 6 PM (early dinner)> on Sterday of Winter -
Yule 2,1431
Moon Phase: Waxing Crescent Moon

Breelands Weather
The early evening winter air is cold and dry around you. The day sky is clear
with only slight wisps of clouds overhead.
===============================================================================

A peaceful night has begun to settle over Bree- the lights of the houses below
beginning to shine through the darkness- not only the lights of Bree-proper,
but those further from the hill in Combe and Archet and Staddle. There are
only a few whisps of cloud in the sky, providing a magnificent view of the
stars and the moon. The air is still cold and crisp, but after a day of
sunshine, it has lost some of its bite.

Megan Tasselberry-Thatcher has found herself a nice grassy place to sit-
overlooking all of Bree-proper and Combe, her little basket beside her, and a
few chunks of bread and cheese spread out before her- though, perhaps she's
had enough of the view and the picnic for the moment, as she lays on her
back- arms behind her head; looking up at the stars with a tiny and somewhat
amused smile on her lips.

Wheezing breaths echo in the chill air long before the hunched shape that is
Hugh Bramblefleece comes into view. "Old legs ain't what they used to be,"
the old man mumbles as he plods onward, step after weary step. "So much ..
fer watchin' .. the sundown." And then his words cease, though the panting
breaths continue. "Now fer a little .. bit o' rest." He halts in place,
leaning on his staff, to admire the twinkling lights of Bree town spread out
below. Too bad he hasn't yet noticed Megan, whose peace he's surely
disturbing with his wheezing and muttering.

Eyes flutter briefly and Megan's head turns slowly to the side as she watches
Hugh's ascent of the hill- that amused smile growing by the moment. A quiet
yawn, and Megan's hands move from their position behind her head to rub at
her eyes. "Evenin' Mr. Bramblefleece.. you missed a good sunset tonight, for
sure, but the stars and the lights are perfectly lovely.." Despite her peace
being disturbed, she apparently doesn't seem to mind that much- yet, she
doesn't move to sit up but remains looking up at the stars; hands now folded
across her stomach.

"What? Who?" Old Hugh gives a tremendous start, and peers suspiciously into the
dimness, staff wavering in his hand - then his eyes finally settle on Megan.
"Oh, it's you. Evenin', Mrs Thatcher. Thought ye'd have been cookin' dinner
fer yer husband at this hour?" Does he sound slightly suspicious? "Aye, it's
a fine view - snatches the breath from a body, though. Could do with a
sit-down." He hobbles slowly towards the woman, without watching his footing
- soon he'll be treading on Megan's picnic if he's not careful.

A gentle sigh- one somewhat annoyed perhaps... "It's Tasselberry-Thatcher, Mr.
Brambleshoe..." that's right, two can play at this game. "Oh, no.. Andrick
was goin' to come up here for a picnic with me.. he must've been held up or
somethin'.. But it doesn't matter- that just means more food for me...And..
Oh, you can come join me, if you'd like.. there's plenty of bread and cheese,
and some fruit drink that I got from the Shire- you'll not find anything like
it in all Bree! And some of me mam's fruit tarts, you can have one of them
too.. oh, look out- there's bread and things all near your feet, there..."
Megan says, only now making the effort to sit up- ready to dive and save her
bread should it come to that...

"Didn't see anyone else comin' up the hill," Hugh responds, frowning at Megan
as he plods on - then halts abruptly, pulling his right foot back to reveal a
perfectly-flattened chunk of bread. "Eh ... so sorry ... didn't see ye had
stuff spread out," he mumbles, standing frozen in place lest he cause more
damage. As he's balanced on one leg, it's not a very stable position, and the
old man starts to waver. "So sorry," he repeats nervously. "Ye've not bin
havin' trouble with 'em rats then, if ye've food to spare?" he adds as an
afterthought, gaze darting round as though he expects another rodent to
emerge from the gathering gloom.

Megan frowns- once at the news that Andrick still wasn't on his way (and now,
one hand moves absently to play with a newly aquired locket on a gold chain),
and then twice as eyes fall on the squashed piece of bread. "Oh.. You've..
Hm.. Oh.. well it's no problem.. what's one bit of bread, hm?" something
doesn't quite hold conviction in her voice as she now begins to pack up all
the bread and cheese- setting it in her basket and giving a shake of her
head. "No rat trouble so far.. haven't seen any about, like I said." This
reply is quite short- perhaps she's finally lost her temper with the old man
though is keeping it under wraps for the moment...

Of course, no rat does emerge out of the dusk. Hugh watches forlornly as Megan
begins to clear the remnants of her picnic away, and lowers his foot again
once he's in no danger of treading on anything else. "Ah, yer lucky. Nasty
critters, rats are," the old man proclaims with a nod of the head. Paranoid?
Hugh? A short, embarrassed silence follows before the old man thinks of
something else to say. "Fine view, isn't it. All the way to Staddle," he
points towards a second set of lights. "Used ta come up here in me younger
days, sometimes."

Megan, now sitting up again, crosses her legs beneath her. "Indeed...Sit down
if you want.. help yourself to a fruit tart or some cheese or somethin'" she
says, though there's a frown in her voice, despite the pleasently polite
smile on her freckled face. "Anyway- there aint no rats up here t'attack you,
Mr. Bramblefeather..." now, comments on the view, and Megan is obliged to
look out and nod again. "Indeed.. I mean, yes- quite. There was a hill like
this- over in the Shire, and you could see all the Shire lights and almost
all the way to Bree.. I aint been up here for a while m'self..."

The stars twinkle in the sky above, mirrored by the lights of Bree in the
twilit town far below. Two persons are silhouetted against the starry
backdrop: a cross-legged Megan, with a basket nearby, and old Hugh
Bramblefleece (who still has breadcrumbs on one foot).

"Very kind of ye," Hugh murmurs to Megan, and a moment later he's lowering
himself creakily to the ground, though he doesn't reach out to take any food
- maybe he's actually heeded the warning note in her voice? "And it's
Bramble/fleece/," he adds pointedly. "Anyway ... now, what was I sayin'?" He
scratches his head, then mutters awkwardly, "Can't have bin important. How
did ye find the Shire? Never bin there meself."

Megan shrugs, then closes the basket and moves it to the side- perhaps to stop
any stray hands reaching in when they shouldn't have been.. "Oh..
Bramblefleece? Ever so sorry! Never been too good with names..." Oh- of
course it wasn't an intentional slip up... "The Shire was lovely! So many
beautiful little patches of woods and steams and little folk all about.. it
was my first time out of Bree.. but, well I'm so glad Andrick was there.. I
don't think I'd have enjoyed it half as much.. it was the prettiest little
place though.. much bigger than Bree- even Bree with Combe and Staddle and
all that. I couldn't believe such little folk had such a big place to
live..." a pause, as if remembering some old conversation.. "And none of them
took any advantage of me, neither."

Andrick. A snort escapes old Hugh, quickly turned into a cough, at the mention
of that name. However, his next words are, "Glad ye enjoyed yerself. I'm sure
Betsy'll be rarin' ta hear all about it, once she's back on her feet -
child's got a nasty cold right now. Course, I'm trustin' ye won't go puttin'
daft ideas about travel in her head. Bree's quite big enough for anyone." He
emphasizes this last with a firm nod.

The clear frosty touch of winter caresses the naked sky with a cold wind, a
wind for spirits to course upon though yet it is gentle. And perhaps spirits
do ride this night, for upon the chill breeze a pale tatter might be spied
fluttering about.

A moment later that pale fingerprint in the dark rustles over the ground
towards the two enjoying the view, resolving into a loose piece of parchment
that is flutters around before being caught upon a stone near Megan's feet.

Eyes turn cold for a moment as Megan casts them upon Hugh- after all, it's not
the first time she's heard such a snort when meantioned Andrick's name.."I
don't see why you don't like him.. it's not like you even know him..." Megan
says, now casting her eyes townward for the briefest of moments and she emits
a sigh- perhaps now playing on sympathies. "Oh.. Betsy's sick? I hope I
didn't give her anything.. I was sickly m'self just the other day, after
all... Daft ideas? No. I'll tell her what she wants to know, and I'll tell
her my stories, and if that's puttin' ideas in her head I'm quite sorry
but..." attention is wavered elsewhere as the parchment comes flying through
the air. One eyebrow is raised and Megan reaches forward (though, somewhat
tentitively, as if it would spring up and bite her) to pluck it from its
place on the stone at her feet.

Hugh's reaction to the sound of rustling in the darkness is instantaneous. The
old man leaps shakily to his feet, brandishes his staff before him and glares
at the ground. "A rat!" he almost yelps. "I tell ye, them critters are
breedin'." Even if the 'rat' is pale and fluttering in a most unratlike way.
"Now, ye be wary, lass - sometimes 'ey bite when cornered."

And upon the trail of the parchment comes a tall figure occluding the stars. He
is heedless for a moment that he is not alone, intent upon his quarry, and he
is near when he spies the two. Upon the dilemma represented by the woman's
fingers reaching for the parchment he desires, the man stills. Then he is
striding forward with his upheld empty hands white in the darkness, his voice
pleasant though slow, "My sorrow, to disturb you. I clumsily dropped
something upon the path below. It does not bite though it is not without
teeth." Amusement for the old man's jumping about lightens his words.

And upon the trail of the parchment comes a tall figure occluding the stars. He
is heedless for a moment that he is not alone, intent upon his quarry, and he
is near when he spies the two. Upon the dilemma represented by the woman's
fingers reaching for the parchment he desires, the man stills. Then he is
striding forward with his upheld empty hands white in the darkness, his voice
pleasant though slow, "My sorrow, to disturb you. I clumsily dropped
something upon the path below. It does not bite though it is not without
teeth." Amusement for the old man's jumping about lightens his words.(repose)

A quizzical and somewhat puzzled look is sent toward Hugh as Megan now holds
the parchment between two slender fingers, though- for once, perhaps in her
entire life, curiosity doesn't get the better of her and she manages to
obstain from inspecting the parchment further.. "It aint a rat.. Mr.
Bramblefleece.. just a bit of parchmet and.." now, it seems the owner of the
parchment has stepped forward and- helpfully- Megan holds up the piece, still
clutched between her fingers. "Is this what you dropped, sir?.. I think it
blew up here from the path a moment ago.."

"Hrrm," the old man grunts as the newcomer's formal speech sounds within the
darkness. He's still trembling, despite the fact that the 'rat' has been
revealed to be nothing more dangerous than a scrap of paper. He tilts his
head up to peer in the tall wanderer's direction, his features set in a
sullen mask. "Thought it was a rat, saw one of the varmints the other day but
couldn't catch 'im. I tell ye, they're spreadin'!" Thus speaks paranoia.

Brown eyes slide then towards the parchment held in Megan's hand. "Maybe you
should check ta see if it's got a name on, Mrs Thatcher, before ye go handing
it over," Hugh suggests thoughtfully now. "Jist ta be on the safe side ..."

"The safer side is not to read letter that do not belong to you."

The stranger's sharp reply betrays his concern for his privacy. He is closer
now, and his words are certainly more formal than his scruffy, travelworn
appearance.

Now, somewhat wearily, and with an equally weary sigh, Megan pushes herself to
her feet. "Yes, I know. I was there- I remember it. People thought you were
mad, too. And it's Tasselberry-Thatcher..." Megan sounds as though she's
about to reveal some kind of revelation, or threat, perhaps, but she seems
now torn between reading the letter, and not reading it..."Maybe I should
just put it on the ground here, and let you two fight for ownership, hm?"
Meanwhile- bright brown eyes are studying the stranger. "If you say it's
yours, then I take your word for it." A mischevious smile.. "Perhaps I could
just let it go- throw it into the wind..." and now she holds it up, as if she
were about to let it go and it would be quite lost over the side of the
Hill... But now, the hand is lowered, and outstretched- complete with
parchment- toward the stranger. "If it is yours then take it... I have no use
for a letter which doesn't belong to me."

Megan steals a glance at Hugh- perhaps wanting to see his reaction to all
this, before now she moves to collect her basket. "Andrick isn't here, and it
seems too late for him to be arriving now. I think I'll go home and picnic on
my own..." eyes are cast once more over the view, before she begins to make
her descent, pausing once to glance back. "Good Evening, Mr.
Bramblehat...and.. you." a nod to the both of them, then she is gone-
strolling her way down the hill.

"I'm not mad!" Hugh protests with a grumpy scowl. "Jist don't like rats." He
watches Megan's antics with a glint in his eye, but doesn't move to stop her
holding out the parchment. "What would I want a mouldy old piece of paper
for, eh?" he mutters in subdued counterpoint, only to realize too late that
Megan's leaving. "Wait, Mrs Tass-" But age-slowed reactions are just that bit
too late, and his words meet empty air.

Left alone with the tall fellow now, Hugh shuffles his feet. "Somethin'
valuable in there?" he guesses. "Seems an odd thing ta me ta be wavin' around
on the top of a hill. Most folk - /decent/ folk - read their letters in their
own homes, ye know." The words are accompanied by a glare, which does nothing
to conceal the fact that the old man's still trembling, just a little.

The threat to return his letter to the rough hospitality of the wind finds no
reply in the stranger's expression, though her arch farewell kindles a wry
grin and a murmured thank you. The parchment acquires grassy marks from his
fingers that close over it. Alaran places it - carefully - under his belt.

A glint in his grey eyes. "Most folk - decent folk - don't find rats in letters
either. Nor do they trouble young women on hilltops."

"Aye, they don't," the old man mutters, taking a step back. His foot slips on
something, and he teeters alarmingly for a moment before regaining his
balance, courtesy of the crooked wooden staff he leans on. "Decent folk are
headin' home fer their supper at this hour - jist like I am. Good eve ta ye,
Mister-" He leaves the title hanging as he slowly turns his back on the tall
man, and starts to plod downhill after Megan, casting occasional furtive
glances over his shoulder lest the unknown man be following.

Imperceptibly the stranger had moved as the man appeared to stumble, to help
perhaps, but the old man recovers his balance and leaves. The glint remains
in his eyes until the white haired man turns his back. Then a sad, wistful
expression runs quicksilver across his face until he too, turns and leaves.
But not for the warms lights for supper.