The midday sun warmed the crisp winter air considerably, though the wind had a bite to it outside the walls of Bree. The roads looked clear as there were few others about their business that day once they passed the gates.
At the very first bridge, Kitten stopped and edged to the water's shore below to refill her flask. The traveler asked the girl where her bear cub was and she'd pointed off in the distance. So the beast would follow them after all. He sighed, silently unsheathed his nicked knife and palmed it under his cloak.
They kept a brisk pace and the traveler found the start of their journey rather uneventful. With no other distractions, Kitten's chatter just barely kept his mind from focusing too much on the tiny rocks making their way inside the holes in his boots. Knowing their destination, he was resigned to accepting that the likelihood of obtaining replacements were between slim and nil now.
Kitten pointed out landmarks as they passed, a few of which he hadn't known of until she did so. He quietly marveled at the way her mind was able to recall obscure bits of knowledge, though he was steadily growing aware of her insatiable curiosity. She spoke of the Barrows and what horrors could be found within, to which he politely listened but inwardly thought ridiculous – especially when she likened it to an old ghost story from her childhood home.
Then, in the distance, far atop a steep hill on the horizon, Kitten pointed out something she did not know of. It was late afternoon now, the sun past its summit and beginning its slow descent into darkness. And they were now leaving the well worn road for the sake of knowledge. With a bear still following them, watching them. The traveler kept his eyes along the lines of trees and his knife at the ready.
Along their sojourn to the mysterious ruins, Kitten had finally managed to start a crack in the thick walls he'd thrown about his past. It was such a small thing, something most people openly shared and indeed were proud of; the girl now possessed more knowledge of him than anyone yet living in the world did - the name that once meant home to him.
In retrospect, he wish he'd been the sort of man for whom lies come easy. Mystery and poverty allowed him to control when he chose to bring memories forth, and gave no one else the power to force them to light with questions. This curious girl would be merciless.
The last rays of sunshine were fading when they found that to reach the ruined outpost they needed to ford a swift but narrow river. The traveler removed his cloak and put both it and his rucksack atop his head as he swam across in the twilight to the far shore. He wandered up and down the incline of the hill seeking shelter for camp, but the best available was beneath the sparse trees by the river. As Kitten built a fire to warm them, the traveler removed his soggy, tattered boots and candidly peeled off his wet tunic and trousers, tossing them over the tree branches to let the wind dry them during the night. When he turned to find his dry cloak, he saw Kitten red-faced and flustered, and then suddenly remembered that ladies typically were bashful about undress, even in dire situations such as they were in - cold, soaked, and in the dark of night.
He pulled his cloak tightly about himself and thought that he should resolve to remember what few social graces he could recall from another lifetime ago to spare her delicate nature his incivility.
As he drifted off to sleep – and to another dream of a golden-haired elf maid singing age-old tales of places long crumbled to dust – the traveler thought that the journey was not so bad off thus far, considering.
