Furley stared down at the note, firstly with curiosity, then slightly aghast, and then finally, with a flash of his eye’s towards Drubainbess.
Pointing it at her, almost wafting it in her direction, he tried to speak, but his mouth just wobbled, speechless. So many questions, thoughts and feelings flooded his mind that they all pressed to burst forth at the same time, compressing in the exit and unable to come forth from his tongue.
“H-h-h-h-how, er, when, ummm. She can write?!” he finally said, stunned. Dru cocked her head to the side as she looked at him, puzzled by his reaction, but waiting expectantly.
“Who can write?” Davamir questioned, dropping the last bite of sausage he’d just retrieved from the ground, getting to his feet and looking at Furley, retrieving the note out of Furley’s hand.
Huh, Dru thought. He’s remaining remarkably calm about this.
“Hahah! Oh my God! She’s a cretin! A damned imbecile! There’s toddlers that write better than this. Good god, where’s the part where there’s a hand print done with the ink and-”
Davamir once again found himself cut short in his ill-timed ribbing as Furley snatched it back out of his hand, glaring fiercely at him. “I swear to God, boy Lord, I’ll shave your locks from your bonce if you talk like that again!”
He was about to protest, but but his hands up in surrender seeing the sudden flare across Furley’s expression, like something dark just growled at him through his eyes. As he retreated a step, one hand stuttered toward his hair, feeling It steadily, as if reassuring himself it was indeed there.
“Where did you get this? When!” Furley demanded of Dru, Davamir having removed all calm from him in an instant.
“From a messenger” she shrugged, trying to play down the situation. “And I’ve… had it. That’s all you need to know”
“How long?!” he pressed. “Is that where you skulked off to the other night!” he growled, to which two elves who looked remarkably identical to one another shot his a glance from across the courtyard, which was enough to ensure he kept his cool.
“How do you know about that?”
“I don’t sleep through a night without wine”
“Very well. It wasn’t the other night”
“Hold on, where were you the other night again?” Davamir questioned her, suddenly back into the conversation.
“Not now” she said, flatly, and he stopped talking immediately, but listened intently.
“But right now, I need to know!” Furley said to her, almost pleading, to which she didn’t reveal anything in body language or emotion. Finally, after contemplating her words, she spoke.
“From a woman. A young woman. Maybe a relative or something? I don’t see the fuss, though. It says here that she’s alright. Says she didn’t leave. At least, I think it does”.
Davamir opened his mouth with another witty retort, but then snapped it shut. Almost as if somewhere along the line, he’d learned some decorum.
“What does it mean by she didn’t leave? She did! She left! She can’t have been around… she went. East. I’m sure of it. Did the messenger say anything else?”
“No”
“No! You didn’t quiz them?!”
“No”
“Why not?!”
To that, she just looked at him, from beneath her hood. Furley broke their stare first, and cursed fiercely and loudly to the wind, before turning round to face them after he paced back and forth for a good minute.
“She didn’t leave? Then where the hell id she go?! I travelled all this way, through countless weather and dangers on the road! Because I thought that maybe she’d have gone East. ALL THIS TIME! All. This. Time!” he yelled, before catching the gaze of one of the elves again from across the courtyard, who had stopped conversing. Instead, they stared intently at him, and unblinking.
“What!” he yelled at them, but the brothers merely focused their glares on him. He could have sworn one of them brushed the hilt of their sword momentarily, which seemed to be enough to dissuade Furley, who yelled in frustration and flung his arms in the air.
After he finally calmed, he saw not just the two elves, but also several agitated and irritated dwarves glaring at him after he’d disturbed what was a really peaceful morning. His heart rate rose in indecision, frustrating himself eternally, feeling stuck at a crossroads more than ever. Finally, he let out a loud sigh, breathing out, and then laughed.
And laughed, and laughed, until he almost became hysterically.
“What’s up with him?” Davamir nudged Dru. “I think you broke him”.
“Oh, no!” Furley said, laughing even harder, grinning to himself. “Oh, no no no. It’s just that one moment of realisation. No mater how much you run, some of us are bound to this accursed land. And in some way or other, my fate is bound with that if hers. And if there’s one thing being bound does, it makes you who you are, not what you could become”.
“And what’s that?” Drubainbess asked, almost bored with him as if he was rambling, but Furley had truly lost it.
“Impulsive!” he shouted, almost triumphantly, like a raving madman. “I, am, impulsive! And by the stars, do I want to drink terrible wine, roam the lands and look upon those waters once more. To hell with this, I’m going home, just one last time! And if she’s truly left, then I’ll finally be free and I will walk any road before me with no dilemma and no consequence! Perhaps I’ll see you again in the south, if the wine’s as good as you truly say!” he grinned, but before either of his companions could say anything, he ran to his horse.
He kissed it’s neck, tightened the saddle straps, and hoisted himself up into his seat, then tugged on the reins and kicked his heels into its side, speeding off at a gallop out of the ruins.
Davamir laughed. “Drama queen” he grinned at Drubainbess, who merely frowned, her lips pouting and her arms crossed.
“And he’s left without his pack or his blade. And there’s bloodhounds on the loose” she finished, in her usual, calm manner.
Davamir looked over his shoulder and gasped, as he looked at where they’d camped, and there it all was. Bedroll, backpack, provisions and his sword. Furley had ridden straight out alone, completely unprepared for anything out there in the wilds.
“Never let that man make a decision!” he said, wincing almost at Furley’s stupidity. “How that man ran a business I’ll never know”
“Because men don’t think clearly when they think with their heart” she retorted, casting his a glare. “Don’t pretend you’re any different”.
“Well, maybe I’m no different, but neither are you” he looked at her. “The question is, what do we do about it?”.
