Furley sat upon the rock, looking out at the shadows of the trees that reflected upon the cool waters of the pool under the Chetwood trees, and sighed heavily. The conversation in the Prancing Pony had bothered him. It seemed he had come back at the wrong time, or rather, he had come back at exactly the right time. Either way the borders of Bree-Land were said to be too dangerous, and he would have to find his way out at some point. But that was a problem for later. Right now, he had to focus on finishing what he had come back to do, then he could turn his back for good.
She could be anywhere. She said she didn’t leave in the note, but where would that lead her? Where were her ties to? He didn’t know. He knew none of it. Did he even really know her at all? All he could bring himself to think about was the time they’d spent watching the stars in the reflection of the pond by the Hunting Lodge, so at least that was somewhere to start. He thought perhaps she’d be at the Company Headquarters, but it was deserted. Rumour had it that Deorla was dead, and that they’d disbanded, but he wasn’t interested in finding out further.
Finally, he pulled out a map of Bree-Land, and considered it. He’d been told to move forward, he must leave the past behind, but what did that truly entail? That he also was unsure of, and he bit his lip thoughtfully. A trip to see Jill in Combe was on the cards, and probably a venture into the ruins of Archet once more. But what else could it mean?
The bloodhound. The man was on his trail relentlessly, but who had sent him? There was Vanden, who was likely long gone or dead at the hands of a bigger fish by now. There was those he had previously owed money to, alongside the vendors in the market he’d owed after the caravan was destroyed, but he’d paid them back now in kind. Who would send him?
Then a thought dawned on him. The Company boxes he had found… had it been an inside job? Or rather, an outside job with insider knowledge? Who did he know that often disappeared, and had picked up a skill for thievery and murder? Surely not?
He couldn’t rule it out, but it was a possibility. The Company, siphoned from under his nose, bankrupting him whilst filling the pockets of one who professed to help? It was certainly plausible. He couldn’t focus on just that, though, for there were others who stole goods and stock. Perhaps he was a member of a gang, but was just a very good member. One way above a normal gang’s capabilities.
Huffing to himself, he circled the known spots of thieves in the area. Outlaw’s Haven, Blackwold’s Roost, Blackwold Headquarters but to name a few. First of all, he had to find the connection between the Bloodhound and Bree-Land. If he could figure that out, then perhaps he could uncover the truth behind his hunting him, or why the Company boxes were in the wilderness when he was present.
The game was afoot. And perhaps, as he crossed off his list of places to visit, then perhaps on his travels he’d pick up a trail from Daphnee. After all, he was casting a wide net, and was bound to find something.
That was, if she was still in Bree-Land. Perhaps she’d thrown him off her scent the only way she knew how? His head hurt from the overthinking, but he shrugged to himself. Hope was enough reason to tolerate looking a fool if he was being played, or if he was wrong. But for the moment, he’d stick his energy into the immediate future.
“Bloodhound, I’m coming for you” he grinned, before unfurling his bedroll to rest under the eclusion of the trees.
