Chapter III - There is more to minding sheep
I am reluctant to write anything down formally, but for now I must throw that caution to the wind for there are more pressing matters to attend to. With those two letters safely delivered I trust the recipients will be free from immediate harm. This is an ill business and something troubles me greatly.
My camp offers me much comfort, not for the trappings of a cosy burrow but for its closeness to nature. Under the bows of these two-dozen elm and silver birch I could be back in The Marish. But for the present I have befriended a roguish local lad with a quick wit, a shepherd who tends his flock in the northern-most part of the Greenfields. Today at noon as I was preparing a rabbit for the pot he brought me a welcome tit-bit of news. Our fellow had been seen in the Plough & Stars that very evening, asking questions seemingly with scarcely a care and as bold as you like. Whether it will prove timely or not the lass I was to look out for has also sought out lodgings in the inn.
I was woken in the middle of the night by the cry of a short-eared owl. I roused myself as quick as I might picking up a heavy stick that was close to hand. I had been careless to let the fire burn so strongly, even in this hollow it was most unwise. Danger was close at hand, I could sense something unfamiliar lurking nearby.
I could make out a shape... a figure wiry and thin with a shock of red hair. He was moving as quietly as a hobbit which is quite unheard of for one of the big-folk, and as if that wasn't strange enough his senses were almost as keen as a hounds... had I moved but a finger I'm sure he would have spotted me right enough and then... I shudder to think.
Taking no chances – after a sleepless night in the gorse scrub I shall find a safer camp and then strike out across country towards Brockenborings.
