Archet/Chetwood

The fair valley of Rivendell, upon whose house the stars of heaven most brightly shone.
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'Besides Bree itself, there was Staddle on the other side of the hill, Combe in a deep valley a little further eastward, and Archet on the edge of the Chetwood.'

(At the Sign of the Prancing Pony, FOTR)



‘And now they’re gone for robbers and live outside, hiding in the woods beyond Archet, and out in the wilds north-away. It’s like a bit of the bad old times tales tell of, I say. It isn’t safe on the road and nobody goes far, and folk lock up early. We have to keep watchers all round the fence and put a lot of men on the gates at nights.’

(Homeward Bound, ROTK)






Welcome to Archet, the least hospitable and most hostile of all the villages of Bree. More so a scattered collection of cottages sat about the borders of where civilization meets the mighty Chetwood. Here abide the woodcutters, the hunters, the foresters, and of course all else who dwell where they are unlikely to be disturbed. It is not a coincidence that few venture into Archet without some form of weapon on their person. Bandits and robbers are prone to leaping out upon the unsuspecting, and wild animals may well prove the least of your worries !


If you go down to the woods today… you might just never return!




This is a Free RP thread. Feel free to RP your own stories, set in whatever time/year you like, as long as you follow a few simple rules.
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  • Please no overly "mature" content
  • Please keep all content within the bounds of the Tolkien world
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(Forest images by Rillewen; taken at Cumberland Mountain State Park)
Last edited by Rillewen on Wed Mar 06, 2024 5:21 am, edited 1 time in total.
"I don't know half of you half as well as I should like, and I like less than half of you half as well as you deserve."

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Sullivan 'Sully' Spruce and his wife Bryony
Flashback - the Murder of Dorian Bay
Witchwood Cottage, Archet - 1 year ago

The sheets were not silken but they were sheets and after such a time the pair of them'd had out in the wild lands, she was grateful for sheets. So long as he did not expect her now to wash the sheets. That was the type of thing which wives did for their husbands, was it not ? Washing … Stretching out in the last throes of slumber, Bryony felt grown up in a way that only a woman laid in her mother's bed could feel. She was now the woman of the house. With a bonafide man laid out …. somewhere on the floor she hadn’t swept yet. And might not bother to sweep, for all that.

Rolling over to rest her chin in her hands, the Bree-woman propped up on her elbows. Narrowing her eyes she raked them down the length of the huge bear of a fellow littering the rug. He smelt of the whiskey they had shared last night. His chest rose and fell as she dared close enough to walk her fingers up it, and she hummed merrily to herself. The nonsensical theme of a new bride on the first dawn of her married life. A meaty slab of a fist swatted at her amusement and she drew back with the ghost of a smile when he missed making contact.

"Shut the twittering, woman," Sully heaved himself to turn and face away from her. "Ain't you hungry ? Go and fetch some vittles' or .." he fell away from caring to think up any alternatives. To think at all, when his head was so swollen. "An' quit the dangang banging."

"That's not me,
" she had imagined the noise within her own head, and startled to learn he heard it too. Was he now somehow privy to her most innermost thoughts ? Sully seized the drape of the dishevelled bedcovers and stole them down to cover him. His new wife knew new chills. Grasping the low standing bed frame, she squatted down, drew knuckles across wooden floor, found and threw a shoe, located a shirt and wrestled it swiftly over her head. It was his, not hers, but that was all the same now and mattered not a jot. She had separated from the thin veil of comfort and resolved to depart from the night before.



The morning after still looked much like the night before. Thin shards of sunlight were thrown like spears through the splits in the dusty curtains. She could make out souvenirs of their unruly celebration. Bottles emptied, clothes strewn here and there. Bryony stood on a thigh high leather boot and clutched her ankle in dismay. A primal response to the hurt done her by the inanimate object, she hurled it with an almighty 'Ngrrhhh" across the room. Sully groaned like the slow open of a door in his wife's mind.

Clutching her head in one hand, Bryony spun to find the small kitchen and rest easy with now both hands clasping for a lone surviving bottle. It was emptied of all contents but the bottom spittle and she regretted the sprinkling of this as soon as she had rained it through her teeth. Her fast broken, in a manner of speaking, the blemished bride tottered around the open room, harvesting her holy stockings from where they'd been flung. A thin, weary underskirt and a rather too immodest bodice she was years too old to suitably pull off.


Dragging the outsized manshirt like a cloth along all surfaces, she finally shook it out over the floor where her new spouse still snoozed. Wicked was the glee which filled her as she unleashed the curtains, rallying in light to see her turn and spin in a girlish delight. The smell of their night of debauchery almost overcame her as exertion saw her struggle with the window. One glass pane should fold up to tuck in beside it's twin, and allow air to pass through aneath. But the clasp was stubborn and she was impatient. A slap against the glass was the worst that she might do against it's defiant rebellion. And another and ..

That banging again. Was it really in her head ? It sounded … It sounded like it was coming from behind the closet door !

One wary brown eye glanced toward the sleeping grizzly and contemplated waking him. The other espied the bottle she had emptied and not smashed. Not yet. More fearful of rousing up her husband than facing the noise alone, Bryony seized up the bottle and raised it high in one shaking hand. Tentatively, she crept toward the small closet door, hesitating just a moment before snatching the round handle in her free hand, and tearing it open ..



Of all things that she was not expecting, the man was top of that list. He ought not to be, since of course she had known that he was here. Last night. But .. how was it that he was still here ? Ah. Oh yes. They couldn't exactly have let him run home to raise the bell and have all folks come raging with the pitchforks. Sully had said that Bryony ought to kill him, seeing as he'd killed the brewer just the day before. One apiece, share and share alike, after all they were now man and wife. She had not cared to, and so .. well shutting him inside the closet had seemed like the best way to avoid that problem. At the time.

It was now long after the time she ought to have killed him. The landlord. The kindly stupid fool of a landlord. This was all down to him, after all. It was not she who had instigated his abduction. It was not her fault at all ! There she had been, dutifully minding her own business while Sully made his contact with his contact. Bill, or .. somebody. That was why they had come to town. She had never wanted to come, but it was impossible to refuse Sully. He said she would come with him and so she had. And then that interfering landlord had chanced by and caught himself a stare. Sully had not liked that, not a piece ! The Breeman was smart enough to recognise his error and his danger, and remarked quite innocently how he had thought she looked like somebody he once knew. Columbine Witchwood

She could not blame him for that of course. Since the late Columbine Witchwood had in fact been Bryony’s mother. Before she’d left. That was the reason why Bryony had not wanted to come back to Archet. The chance of running into her parent, or to anybody else who might ask why she had run away and why she had been away so long .. The contents of a true answer could not be disclosed. And the last time she had even entertained the thought of coming home, it had been with .. another man. It was best that she not think on him at all. Sully had made clear that he did not approve of maudlin memories.



The landlord of the next morn seemed to have fared about as badly as had any other item in the house the night before. A riotous homecoming it had been and no mistake ! The elderly, and by now extremely sweat-heavy, gent had his wrists forcibly bound together, between his legs. With one arm pulled down in front of his chest, the other arm wrapped behind his back, he could not now even walk as much as hop and sort of flop about, all crouched over and making strange grunting gasps. It was quite ludicrous to observe and Bryony was not sure why his unlooked for intervention had so worried her. He was after all, a pathetic sight, his socks stuffed into his mouth as he gagged and sought to speak through the fine wool.

Inspecting what was left, she put one finger upon her lips, and then pulled him to his feet. He could not make it upright but loitered in the perfect position for her to kick him square in the behind ! He was sweaty, and yet cold to touch, she reviled and wiped off the hand she had laid on him, against his white hair. "Shh" she said, and he nodded, as though a puppy learnt a trick. Carefully, she untangled the gag and dropped it's drool-spent weight onto the floor with great revulsion.

"Eurgh !" she could not keep from sharing.

"Please," he replied, way past the point of humiliation. "I have a family. Children .."

As though he had caused her some great offence, she struck hard with the glass bottle against the side of his head. "Shh !" she said again. Then dashed the bottle hard against the floor. It splintered into a river of tiny slivered peril.



"I did what you wanted," the landlord persisted. "The deed is legitimate. The house is yours … both of yours .." They each cast a glance toward the immense bulk that was Sully.

"I remember you," the revelation startled even Bryony, who spoke it. "I remember you, from back when I was a little girl."

"Bryony
" he nodded, eagerly, as though a starved man now offered food. "Little Bryony Witchwood. After all this time .."

"You have a wife,
" she recollected. "Two daughters, am I right ? Aster. Aster and Allysum. I expect they have daughters of their own now." she mused, leadingly.

"Aster. She has a son and a daughter," Dorian Bay believed that he had tapped into the spark of humanity which might remain in Bryony.

"Family .." the woman rolled her eyes. "They love you, they need you," she meandered into thought, her eyes drifting to someplace beyond all that could be seen about her. Dorian was nodding.

"Please," the landlord said again. "I can help you. I can tell them. It was not down to you, any of this. It was him .."


An almighty shove sent the hapless Breeman shuffling in his absurd and desperate dance for balance, across the room. His head was bowed low because of the way he was bound. His head shattered the stubborn pane of glass which Bryony had not found means to open. Until now ..


"Stupid," she shook her head, even as her captive skated on the broken glass she'd littered moments earlier. "You should have minded your own business. Should have gone home to that family of yours ..," she lectured. Quite belatedly. For by this point the landlord had slunk to his knees, dazed, his head free and frantic in the fresh morning air. He opened his eyes and dared to wonder his luck as a thin river of blood ran it’s course down his brow. But the rest of him was yet within the cabin. Bryony resolved the issue and the threat of his calling for help (for all the good it would not do him), by leaning upon his head with both her hands. The Breeman's throat was punctured by the upturned and jagged edges of the broken window pane. For the sake of being certain, the new bride ran his now gushing jugular along the length of the whole glass, severing the flesh to pulp. There would be no putting this man back together again. Dorian Bay had left the building. His head had, at the least.


"Didn't I say, way back when, that I was hungry ?" Sully's deep tones turned the murderess from indulging yet further in the wonder of what she had done. With an overly dramatic sigh, the huge man scratched his beard and sprang from his bedraggled covers. He dressed in his breeches then tried on the landlord's fine jacket and watched his wife grimace as the tiny sewn seams split all the way up his giant back.

"Too small," she lamented, caught up his shirt she had been dusting with, and tossed it in his face.

"Best I go hunt up some food then, while you clean up this mess," he closed in on a massive axe which was hung from the wall, and tested it's weight, not unimpressed. "S'gonna smell soon."

"My father was a woodcutter," she mentioned, strangely proud to see the glisten of sweat on her new husband's vast biceps. "You've never hunted in woodland before .." she warned him.

Sully turned, swung the axe experimentally against thin air and grinned when she did not even duck. "Ferny said the village tanner has just died. I'll be the tanner," he stepped in close, and cupped her chin in a hand which could crush it like an almond in a vice. "You'll be the tanner's wife," he decreed. "There’s fresh bait about this place enough to chase out all sorts of beasties." To make his point, the new Breeman took up Dorian’s decapitated corpse by one foot and dragged it clear of the cabin.

"You’ll be the best tanner they’ve ever seen," his wife threw back as he left, straddling his first hide, and having it wave a sorry farewell through stone cold fingers on the ground behind him. And if Sully had thought for an instant that she was took by sentiment. Her next words saw him smirk. "We'll be needing to pay for a new window !" she called out, chidingly.

Wives are meant to nag their husbands, after all. And she was his wife now. It said so, on the deed which they had forced the landlord to write and legitimise. The Witchwood cabin was now the property of Mr and Mrs Sullivan Spruce. Newest residents of Archet, and of Breeland. Tanner was a fair enough profession. The smell would hide all manner of secrets and there would always be a reason to find blood in the house, a knife in her strong husband's hand.

She had not wanted to come home to Bree. But the more she thought about it, this could be the best thing she dared wish for.
Last edited by Ercassie on Fri Sep 03, 2021 6:52 am, edited 2 times in total.
All that is gold does not glitter, not all those who wander are lost
The old that is strong does not wither, deep roots are not touched by the frost.

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Clayton 'Clay' Dogwood
Approaching Witchwood Cottage

The following winter – Current Day



He knew the path so well he might have made the journey with his eyes closed, and for certain he had dreamed of managing this feat. In dreams. In his safe unconscious mind, it all worked out exactly as he imagined and wished for. He surprised the tanner, forced him to confess before a crowd of conveniently arrived villagers, and then won a resounding cheer and a good round of kisses from his fiancee. Quite how well this would likely work out in truth was something that remained to be seen.

Similarly the tanner himself was not immediately obvious to the approaching eye. Clay scanned the surroundings of the modest little cottage, and found it to be wracked by obstacles. There were not only a good many pelts and skins hung up all about the place, and stinking ! Who knew who might be stalking or skulking behind any one of those ! There was also an impressive collection of animal traps, draped in heavy chains and hung about the porch like decorations. Or else warnings. Who could only say how many if any were hidden in the dirt between where the youth stood and the prime suspect lived !

Not quite keen to march toward the tiny homestead and meet who knew what within, Clay circled his target from a distance and a smart cover of trees. Who knew when he might have the chance to get out this way again, with all there was to manage before the impending wedding ! Witchwood Cottage was a tenancy of the late landlord, Dorian Bay and Dorian’s daughter Ally had taken over her father’s works, as best as she was able. Clay had been helping out with the repairs and maintenance, since Ally was his intended’s aunt. It gave reason of course for the handyman to chance by the Spruce squatters, as convenience. Before little Maggy came looking for him ! He could not go the whole day about thatching up a roof, without first sating his curiosity. It was a matter of focus, of safety !

He might tell himself, now that he stood here, that he was just on reconnaissance, gathering up information, so he could come back .. more prepared ... but now that he was actually here ? A sound caught the young man's ear, and he flattened against the most neighbourly of trees. It might be Sully himself, or else that woman of his. Let alone some miscreant associate. Everyone knew that the Spruce's were in league with Bill Ferny and who could guess what worse types. Most of the villagers were fond of their presumptions. Clay needed proof !!

Best watch a while, maybe even come up with a plan beyond the satisfying ending he imagined ..




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Sullivan Spruce and Bryony Spruce
Witchwood Cottage – Current Day

Wild beasts defecate, urinate or otherways mark their territory. Sully was in this regard (and a good deal others) a similar beast. His latest vocation as a tanner had but furthered his already questionable hygiene; so his latest home and it's surrounding vicinity were now long since inundated by the debris of animal slaughter. Skins and hides both were festooned all about the residence in various stages of production, for to take the raw resource all the long way to an end product of fine leather was no easy evolution. Horns and hooves must be discarded, hair removed, even before the series of 'sheet' work started to soften and waterproof what else would putrefy and leak. When it at last satisfied all the stages of preparation, Sully's work would fetch a handsome price, not least because he demanded a high price and few dared to ever argue the point.

Each of the tanner's broad arms was wider than his wife's head and he regularly towered over his neighbours with a vast trunk-like torso and a leering smirk. The small homely cottage that Bryony had 'inherited' had been since entirely refashioned by the collection of antlers, horns and other trophies of the intrepid hunter. With a resigned sigh, Mrs Spruce lost a staring contest with a bedevilled example of her husband's home-made taxidermy. Sully not only enjoyed the macabre art but quite frequently experimented in designing some truly disturbing concoctions. Canine teeth in this example glistened from within the beak of a stuffed owl, and a small inanimate squirrel bore no fluffy bush at his behind, but a slick, coiled and reptilian snake's tail. The 'lady' of the house baulked from such a sight and turned back to the task at hand.

Mr Spruce had his back to his spouse, and his attention to his knives. It was not the wisest course of action for the woman to dare , however swiftly, about her small chest of private trinkets, but if she did not live dangerously, she did not know how to live at all. Each time that Sully got himself too deep about some ungodly scheme and vanished some months at a time, each of these times Bryony was forced to do whatsoever she could to gather coin enough meanwhile to eat. She was not without her wiles and her ways, and she would be damned before she allowed her husband any quarter of her earnings. So the loose floorboard that she had prised up in her childhood, the one she had convinced herself that she alone knew existed .. it was where she stowed all of her ill-gotten gains. Pennies, jewellery, heirlooms that might be worth a thing or two, or sold back to those she'd stolen them from, for a price. Mrs Spruce could put her hand within her hidden trove, and recognise by touch all those things that she knew to be within.

So it was a shock that painted the shadow over the woman's heart. When she realised that there was naught in her small refuge, and no, in fact it was far worse than nothing. There was a pair of silken panties, so undoubtedly not hers ! Bryony drew out the tiny mocking shape of that offensive item, caught up at the very end of her fingers as though she could scarcely stand to have it come in contact with her skin.

She knew what it meant. Further more there was only one means by which it had ended up in her secret place. It was not even that her husband was blatently informing her that he had discovered her hideaway. It was that he'd taken the time to think how best he could hurt and shock the woman he was supposed to trust in all the world ! He'd deliberately planned for her to find this evidence of adultery, at a time when she was seeking solace and comfort in material possessions. Back to her, the tanner carried on about his work, so that she could only imagine the smirk which had set up camp within his salt and pepper beard. There was no way that he had not been expecting her to find his handiwork, no doubt he had been waiting on it some hours now. Yet never given any part of his anticipation away.

Well, if he thought that she was going to put up with such insult and downright atrocious dealings, he had another thing coming ! And that other thing was the first item she might lay her shaking hands upon. A pan. A metal pan fair full of glue that he'd been stewing on the stove. Bryony closed her fingers around the burning handle, raised it up on high and turned the contents as high over Sully as she could manage ! It splashed his back where he sat, and saw the immense man to leap from his seat. But all that he found to explain the assault was the slamming wooden door.
All that is gold does not glitter, not all those who wander are lost
The old that is strong does not wither, deep roots are not touched by the frost.

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Clayton Dogwood
Outside, spying on the cottage
@Rillewen

A sudden clap beat out it's stark alarm from somewhere behind all the hanging skins, draped out like laundry. Clay startled at first from Bryony's abrupt flight from the cottage and then second from the bird which had lit out from the woodland behind him. Peering first back to where he could espy nothing, and then out to where an angry Mrs Spruce was crashing down her steps, the young man narrowed his eyes intrigued. She was leaving ! Alone !

Clay had just set his mind toward following the woman when he caught out of his eye a figure arriving behind him. Fearing it was Maggy come to seek him, he readied a finger to his lips. But it was a someone taller than his tiny helper. Struggling to assign a name to the girl's face, there was only one word that came to mind.

"Willows !!! Argrhhhhh !" Bryony exploded somewhere swiftly moving out of sight.

Still, Clay could not take up the pursuit he desired. Unaware of what had caused the tanner’s wife to bellow so furiously, he then turned and believed he had found the reason why. Willows Darn them ! The girl (Brooke) was dawdling as slow as ever she could manage to make it up to Witchwood Cottage, and Clay cursed under his breath the headstart that Bryony had now gained. He might never now be able to catch up that dratted woman and spy out what she was up to !

Willows, he growled now silently in his own bout of frustration, winding back down to where he might squat in secret still. Who knew what one of a name known for ill repute was seeking, at this house of equally foul reputation ?! This unlooked for interruption was either going to award him some great insight into lives he cared not to imagine, or else all his time here would be wasted. Rolling his eyes, the young man settled down in as little comfort as he had found here, to at least observe what happened next.
All that is gold does not glitter, not all those who wander are lost
The old that is strong does not wither, deep roots are not touched by the frost.

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@Ercassie

Brooke Willows
Timidly approaching Witchwood Cottage


The walk seemed to take hours. It may have been. Brooke’s feet were cold, and it was a lot of work to trudge through the snow. She had to keep stopping now and then to rest, catch her breath, and remind herself why she must press on. Every step was taken with great trepidation; any moment, a bandit could leap out at her. She tried her best not to think of such possibilities, for it was likely to set her running back to Staddle. Still, every moment she spent in these woods, she felt that she was in great danger, which was at least half of why she had been so desperate not to have to accomplish this errand. But Claire had her ways of making Brooke comply with most things she wanted her to do, much to the girl's dismay.

Maybe she could leave the letter on the doorstep. No, Claire had demanded that she make sure the man got it. If she left it, then it could get blown away by the wind, or ruined by the weather, or taken by another person. Perhaps, then, she could stuff it into the man’s hand and then run? That, too, seemed unlikely. She had wanted to do that with Henley, but that had not worked out. And then, the fact that her feet were so cold and she knew she was no good at running, well, running away wouldn’t be a good option, she realized.

Stopping at the edge of the clearing with a sigh, Brooke was almost disappointed to see that she had, at last, arrived. She stared from the relative safety(not really) of the treeline, catching her breath one last time before she would go onward. The house stood before her. Smoke rose from the chimney, indicating that someone was home. Too bad. She hesitated, fingering the ties on her bag. What now? Dare she go up and knock on the door? That is what she ought to do, she knew. But that was the most difficult part of the errand. The long walk through the snow was nothing… now that she was here, it was all she could do to keep from going back.

Clay wasn't the only one startled by the loud bang as Bryony exited the house. Brooke jumped, instantly ducking behind the nearest, largest tree before the approaching person could see her. Was it Sully? Was he coming to yell at her and chase her off his property!? Her heart raced as she peered around the trunk and watched Mrs Spruce disappear into the forest. Letting out a slow breath, Brooke closed her eyes, wrapping her arms around herself tightly. She wasn't shivering quite as much anymore, but she wasn't sure that was a good thing. If she could just hurry up and leave this letter...

She sighed, knowing she shouldn't put this off much longer. Stepping out from her hiding place, she tried to convince herself to be brave. But really, she didn't feel very brave. Her mother was. Why couldn't she be more like her? Brooke tried to think of what her favorite book character would do, trying to pretend she was like them, even though she knew she was not. One slow step after another, she started across the clearing toward the house, hoping things might actually go better here than they did at the barber’s. One could only hope, after all, even if it was laughable to do so. If she moved any slower, it would be nighttime before she knocked on his door. She certainly didn't want to be here at night, and she was even more strongly opposed to walking home through the woods after dark. Who knows what might be lurking besides just bandits. Each step brought her closer and closer to doom, it felt like.
Last edited by Rillewen on Wed Mar 06, 2024 6:47 am, edited 1 time in total.
"I don't know half of you half as well as I should like, and I like less than half of you half as well as you deserve."

Chief Counsellor of Gondor
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Sullivan 'Sully' Spruce
Witchwood Cottage
@Rillewen

He wasn’t fond of asking. Asking implied that he did not know the answer, or that he required something of somebody else. What’s more it let everybody know it, the moment you opened your fool mouth. When he was a child, he was ever being clouted all around the head for ‘asking’. If he wanted something, he was trained to find a way of fetching it himself and not bothering folks who were busy. So some decades later, the same principle applied. If there was a means to gain a thing without the act of begging for it, Sully would concoct that means. It seemed that his accomplice was of similar mind. He could have out and out called Bryony to confess how she’d come by all the treasures which he’d spied her hide beneath the floorboard. He knew plenty fellas who would whoop their wife for holding out on them. Truth was though she didn’t hold out on him. There had been many occasions when his wily woman had provided some miracle means to get them out of a scrape. She didn’t flaunt her accomplishments. She simply let him in on the secret when that secret could profit them both. It did not embarrass him to have bound such a clever mind to his side. What though was important was to ensure that the woman did not start to think she might just do without him. She might be the squirrel who found all the nuts, but he was the strong tree in which that same little squirrel sheltered.

There was no what could be termed ‘romance’ between them. There were times of course. That they enjoyed one another’s company. There were many countless more times when she yelled him out, or belted him back when he swang at her. And though they both cavorted some dirty deeds, there were times he woke beside a woman quite his match beside him. Hard drinking, coarse swearing, dishevelled and ever nagging about his works all about her house, a man needed a little something to recall the sweeter things in life.


Sully Spruce would not be without his Bryony. Neither would he admit this to another living soul. But he would not turn down Mrs Willows either when she made it very clear just what she could do for him. Fragrant stinking, all-appealing, never saying no or raising up a frying pan to strike his head .. there was good times to be had with Mrs Willows. Not to say that it amused him to do so with her lump of a husband sat, all awkward and unable to make words to stop them. Jeff needed the money and lacked the gumption to preserve his wife’s honour. If another man so much touched a hair on Bryony’s head, they’d regret it. She’d smack them up proper herself, knowing how she had it better with Sully.

There were enough treasures in that hideyhole to colour Sully Spruce impressed. And aware it’s time to remind his wife quite where the balance of them stood. So he took her hard earned (who knew how) keepsakes. He flittered them away as he liked and as she would know that he could, should he take the notion into his head to do so. The fancy silken drawers were as much of an explanation as he should require. More though, they were enough to provoke his wife into a jealous rage. Didn’t hurt none to remind himself how frightful angry she could get over him and some other woman. It fed his ego. It fed so many levels of his enjoyment. And he had been looking forward to the moment that she found him out for some days now. Like a child at Christmas.


Until he had become distracted in the long delay before discovery. It might have seemed that he was hard at his work. The man’s ears though were trained, like an animal on the prowl. He sat at his chair, boots propped against the table, but he had noted still that the birds had stopped their singing in the trees outside. There was a slight but apparent crunch of tread in snow. Somebody was out there. He had taken to sharpening his knife, so he’d have it close to hand. His eyes were cast low and seeming on his task, but just as drawn to the shadow which would tell if some critter came a creeping to their open door. The creak of the floorboard he had imagined was his intruder. Bryony’s revulsion at his theft and taunting trade though rained down over him instead.

The glue was a home-made (obviously) recipe, to make rid of the overspill from his vast animal carcass collection. Bones were bared of hide and hair, of meat for a meal and then of all else that could be boiled loose thereafter. Most often the glue found it’s way into Bryony’s ‘elixirs. Tooth whitening gel was a particular favourite, so that the customer was instructed to balm his gnashers well, and hold a smile for an hour so that the ‘magic’ would work. What really occurred was an orthodontic disaster and the poor bamboozled ‘customer’ would be ill equipped to protest or voice sense of any complaint that he tried to make.


Sully was fortunate that the gloop had not been heat up overlong. Though a shower complete with gristle and bone was not the reaction he’d been hoping on. Bryony was quick, and smart enough to make herself scarce after this initial flare of temper. Her husband was up on both feet like a shot, his knuckles blanched white around the knives he still held. One in either hand. Rage saw each dashed into an opposing wooden wall, as the giant man turned left, then right, on pure adrenalin. Tearing at his shirt at either side of the stitched buttons, he tore it in two and dashed the remnants to the ground, stamping upon it with one foot as though he could put out the fire that had been lit in his skin.


Outside an accompanying cry rang out, as though in response.

Willows ! Argghhhh !”

Bryony.


Sully lowered himself into his seat, almost, before wondering if the shriek meant his wife had found Claire Willows on his doorstep. He had, after all, heard someone outside before ever the eruption. Held to his height and headed outside instead.

Drawing back one hand through a curtain of hanging chains and animal traps, Sully scanned the scene from his stand on the blood-stained porch. There was no sign of Claire or Bryony, and he could only suppose that his dear wife had set off into town to have ‘words’ with her ‘romantic rival’. What there was though … was something he had not been expecting.


A girl. She did not seem to be creeping up on his cottage, but rather having trespassed quite by mistake. The slight figure seemed not bolstered by some indignation nor scared enough to know better and run clear away. It was not an approach that the man had seen before. Intrigued, he stared across the icy surround, eyes trained on this little fawn of a thing who was either lost or some version of lunatic. He did not see the spy whom he had overheard for some time (Clay), and was rather surprised at how long the girl was taking to reach him. Had she walked round in circles and in contemplation ? What would bring such a creature out here ?

Like a wolf who questions not the prospect of an unexpected lunch, Sully grinned, all teeth. The state of him from the glue and the bared chest did not even enter his head of whatever she must imagine him up to.


Lookee here what I see,” he crossed arms across his chest, so that all the chains, dead pheasants, and snap-hungry metal clattered together like leaves caught in a sudden storm, now that he did not hold them aside. “If you’re coming, better come on it.”

The invitation followed him inside, where the door he’d burst through emitted a piercing scream. A warning for Brooke that to do as he said was not a wise idea. But what then would be to refuse him ? The door jutted in the playful jesting that it would swing open, but teetered and shivered just ajar. Not much inside could from this spot be seen. The girl would be forced to go inside. Sully was already retrieving his knives from the scored wooden walls. It would be a treat to chase and hunt her through the trees if she should now run away. After all, he knew where all the traps had been laid. And she was fortunate not to have fallen foul of any yet.



In the bushes Clay ducked down as Brooke had passed his hiding place. The rustle of foliage no doubt yet further fright to alarm the latest arrival.
All that is gold does not glitter, not all those who wander are lost
The old that is strong does not wither, deep roots are not touched by the frost.

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Brooke Willows
Timidly approaching Witchwood Cottage


Perhaps her imagination was making it seem more frightening than it really was. It was just a house. Just a simple little cabin in the forest. The only thing scary about it was... the occupant. And the evidence around about it of some creatures having been killed and their skins turned into hides. That, of course, unsettled her tremendously. She didn't want to see dead animals, or their skins. The blood all over everything did not make the place look any more inviting, either. The sudden screech of the door froze her in her tracks, after she nearly jumped out of her skin. Her heart seemed to leap up into her throat when she heard the man speak, and she stared at him like a startled deer. Now, halfway across the clearing, she could not merely duck behind a tree. She was out in the open. Perhaps she could run back home and just tell Claire she gave him the letter?

But she knew better than that. Swallowing, she fought the urge to flee. She drew a shaky breath, preparing to try and explain her purpose for coming, before she could be ordered off the property. She'd hastily explain that she was delivering a letter, thrust it into the man's hands and then make her exit as swiftly as she could. That's how she planned it in her head, anyway. Her mind began sorting out exactly what she'd say, picking just the right words to make it brief but properly explaining her purpose, then excusing herself to complete her other errands. Easier planned than carried out, however. Especially when he made some comment about coming inside and then vanished within the house, as if he actually expected her to follow!

She stood very still, right where she was, for what felt like a long time. Her heart was racing, her mind going over a million possible reasons why she should never have come here, why she should not go a step nearer, and why she should leave right now. An inward battle raged between one half of her mind telling her to flee as fast as she could go, and get as far away as she could, and the other half telling her to go quickly and shove the letter at the man and then leave, so that she could say her task was complete. She wouldn't be getting supper until it was, she knew. But more importantly; her mother's book, her most treasured possession in all the world, was in danger of being burned if she should fail to complete this task. Supper could be missed, or found elsewhere. But her book... that was irreplaceable.

Brown eyes closed tightly for a few seconds as Brooke realized that she felt almost lightheaded. Her throat felt tight, and she thought she might start coughing if this kept up. The cold air seemed to make it more difficult to draw in air, too. 'Breathe, Brooke, breathe.' She reminded herself, for she could tell that she needed to get control of her breathing again, which happened at times. At last, her steps forward continued, albeit slowly. She felt very shaky, but she couldn't tell whether it was from cold, or trembling with fear, or just shaky from lack of food, seeing as she'd had nought but a handful of chestnuts all day. The girl found her gaze locked upon the dead birds and other things hanging there. They did not make her feel any better at all.

Stopping at last on the porch, Brooke hesitated before knocking lightly on the door frame. Obviously, he already knew she was there. But it was only polite to knock. The letter was already in her other hand, having absently dug it out from her bag as she made her way onto the porch. She would refuse to step past that doorway. Who knows what horrors might lie inside, and she did not intend to walk into anyplace where she might be trapped. Now, if she could only manage to deliver her mentally-practiced explanation and make her hasty retreat.

"I.." The single word was so soft she knew it would not carry past the doorway, so she cleared her throat and tried again. "U-um, I... s-sorry but..this is.." she couldn't help inwardly cringing at her stumbling over the simple sentence. So much for that speech she intended to give. "Claire..sh-she sent it.. it's for you, sir." She finally got out, hoping that he heard that at least. If she could just say the things she planned to say... if she didn't get all tongue-tied and nervous and jumbled up when she tried to talk, maybe she wouldn't be such a total failure at everything. Maybe she wouldn't be so useless, and feel like an idiot so often. Maybe she could actually gain a little confidence, but how could she when she was always messing something up, or couldn't think of the words she wanted to use when she wanted to use them?

Trying not to show any outward sign of her frustration at her own inability, Brooke stood awkwardly at the door, hoping that Mr Spuce would just come to the door and that this would be an extremely brief exchange. The letter was held out toward the gap between the door and its frame, her cold hand trembling slightly. There was no need for her to go in if he'd just take the letter and let her go. She really did not want to be there when he read whatever Claire's letter was... probably a bill or some such thing, like Henley's had been. She had a feeling that Sully Spruce would react far more violently than the drunken barber had done, and she had no desire to be the recipient of his anger.
Last edited by Rillewen on Wed Mar 06, 2024 6:44 am, edited 1 time in total.
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Sullivan 'Sully' Spruce
Witchwood Cottage
@Rillewen



A tapping at the door frame. Sully didn’t flick a glance from where he had found a new shirt. ‘New’ might be misleading as to it’s description, since he had plucked it up from the heap sat on a chair. Still it was warm, like a logger’s flannel which occurred to him as more important than how he should look. He left the wet remains of his torn shirt still upon the floor, directing it with one booted foot to mop the glue gloop until he saw how much more work would have to clean it.

The girl did not venture in.

Tugging his hands through his dark hair, the tanner removed a piece of gristle and flung it across the room into the emptied pot. It landed with a clang, which rang over part of what the girl was saying, outside. “You’re gonna have to do better at that,” the Man decided. Drawing a knife up he flung it at the front door, where it embedded in the wood. The depth ensured that it’s point would show through the quivering outside. To make his point. Literally. “If you ain’t right itching for me to come fetch you in here myself, girl ? ” the threat didn’t provide an alternative. “I don’t think you’d like that,” Sully muttered, not at all to himself.
All that is gold does not glitter, not all those who wander are lost
The old that is strong does not wither, deep roots are not touched by the frost.

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Brooke Willows
Entering Witchwood Cottage, reluctantly


A clang sounded right about the time she had tried to speak. Brooke flinched a little at the noise, and bit her lip. She fidgeted, shifting awkwardly. The man spoke, saying something about... she didn't do good enough? Why didn't that surprise her. She never did anything good enough, apparently. With a sinking feeling, she began trying to think of a better way to put it, when something thudded loudly into the door in front of her. Brooke jumped back, startled.

Staring at the sharp point that protruded from the wood, she wondered if the man inside were, in fact, crazy. Her heart hammered wildly as she struggled to calm herself, but it was a hard task. 'He's going to kill me,' She thought in panic. It took all her willpower to keep from fleeing as fast as she could. Which was not very fast, and she knew it. That thought helped keep her feet planted where they were. He would outrun her in no time, if he had a notion to.

Standing frozen in place, the girl wondered what she was to do. She wanted to get as far from here as she could go, but she was stuck now. She tried to remember why she hadn't just told Claire she'd delivered the letter and been done with it. Also, what would happen to her books if she were murdered here? Claire might sell them! Or they might sit in her room, closed off from the world until they'd rotted. Or worse, Claire might decide to use them for fuel in the fire! How awful would that be! Amid the swirl of such thoughts, it also occurred to her to wonder what her newfound friend, Aislin, might do if Brooke were killed. Would she find out? Would she miss her? Would it even bother the girl, seeing as they barely knew each other?

Somehow, through the various panicked thoughts racing through her head, and through the pounding of her heart in her ears, she managed to register what Mr Spruce had said next, after the knife-throwing incident. That if she didn't come inside, he'd fetch her in himself if she didn't come in voluntarily. Drag her in, more likely. That made her shudder a little.

What a dilemma. Brooke had never held any hatred for anyone, no matter what they may have done. She disliked several people, some stronger than others. She was afraid of, and avoided others, but did not hate them. Despite that, she felt sure that if there was ever any person whom she ever did hate, that person would be her stepmother. It was Claire who had sent her here. Claire knew what Sully was like. She knew that Brooke was terrified of people like him, and that she did her best to stay well away from such people. She did this on purpose, she must have. 'She wants him to kill me,' She thought, distressed by the thought. 'He will, too. I'm sure he will!'

For the next couple of seconds, Brooke could only stand silently, eyes squeezed shut as she did her best to regain some semblance of calm. At last she opened them, took a shaky, deep breath, and tentatively nudged the door open, maybe an inch. Enough to take a timid peek inside. If she was going to go in there, she wanted it to be her own choice, and not be dragged in against her will.

One mostly-numb hand held her blanket closed around her, like a shawl, while the other trembling hand, clutching the letter, pushed the door a little bit more. Pausing to delay as long as possible, she coughed into the blanket briefly. The cold air was making her feel cough-y and she wanted to just go curl up in her room with her blanket.

As she reluctantly stepped across the doorway, tense and wishing she were elsewhere, warm air greeted her. The only good thing about going inside. Though she knew it was probably in poor manners, Brooke did not close the door as she entered. She couldn't stand to shut off any chance of escape, even if it would be futile to try. She hated feeling trapped, and hated that she'd had to come inside where she would feel trapped. Perhaps he knew that, somehow. She still couldn't shake the feeling he was going to kill her, though she didn't know why he'd have any reason to... she'd never done anything to him!

At last inside, and now even more nervous than before, she glanced around, wanting to know where the man might be. Her gaze landed on a horrible mutation of a squirrel with a serpent's tail. She blinked, staring at this in some alarm before it registered that this was not a living creature. At least, not anymore. Someone (she guessed Sully) had done that to the poor dead squirrel. And to the snake. The sight made her a little sick. Judging from the direction his voice had come from, she looked that way, doing her best to avoid looking at anymore of the similar creatures within the small cabin. There he was, and thankfully, wearing a shirt now.

If she could only deliver that hasty, practiced explanation now, and give him the letter, maybe he'd let her leave. She really hoped not to be around when he learned..whatever it was Claire had in that letter. She guessed it to be bad news for him, and he certainly seemed the type to take his anger out on the messenger of bad news, rather than the origin of it. Hoping for the best, but expecting the worst, she tried again. "I... I have a letter for you, sir..." She was aware her voice was barely above a whisper, but it was difficult to manage much more with how nervous she felt. She softly cleared her throat. "From Claire..." She offered it out in a slightly shaky hand, hoping he'd take it. "A...and... I'm expected back quickly..." She added timidly. Maybe that would help something...
Last edited by Rillewen on Wed Mar 06, 2024 6:44 am, edited 1 time in total.
"I don't know half of you half as well as I should like, and I like less than half of you half as well as you deserve."

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Sullivan 'Sully' Spruce
inside Witchwood Cottage, appraising Brooke
@Rillewen



The door fell aside beneath a gentle hand, but if the girl hoped to enter quietly, she ought to have recognised that this was not a place where hope would tarry overlong ! The ancient hinges dragged not unlike nails along glass, and though light should have spilt into the small cottage, still the tanner loitered in the furthest corner. He was hankering on lapping up her full arrival, each small nervous step, each tiny apprehensive piece of progress. Progress ? That might be a mismatched word to describe what was happening. For rather it must seem the hapless young thing was coming to her doom, more so with each shift and stutter. Sully drank of her reactions to his home, his 'masterpieces'. There was still more than a little gristle scattered on the floor, much less the now-ruined shirt. The girl stopped her shuffling mere inches from this last, as though it was some boundary she feared to cross. But it was too late for that now. The door may not have crashed to a close behind her, but the girl could not leave nonetheless.

If she had been so able, Sully considered, she would have left so already. The letter, from Claire, was brandished in one shaking hand, as though it might stand a shield, although in truth it seemed just as feeble as a broken wing. And she the flightless bird.



"Well now," the vast man now idly rounded the chair which he'd shadowed. Lowering into it's charms, he notched one booted foot against the table that separated them. Leaning back, he rocked pretty precarious on the hind legs of his seat. A toothpick twirled and writhed in one side of the man's jaw, as though it were some miniscule victim, squirming against all odds to escape. "Ain't that just a thing ?" It was not a question which required a right answer. A slight tilt of the head, and Mr Spruce continued, drawing his gaze up and down what little there was of the scrawny creature. "A right good favour of a thing, I'd say," he continued. "You came all … the … way … out …. here ?"

It was not by chance that he sprawled his sentence out, so to emphasise the length … of quite how far she must have come from town. A grin clamped the toothpick in a smile which was not designed for comfort.



"Why, but Claire lives right far from here," he added, to hammer home his point, and the girl's peril. No acknowledgement was made as to the letter's author. 'Claire' might as well be a village landmark for all the interest her client now afforded. If he thought some on that notion, the 'comely' woman was something of a 'feature' most folk could locate without much trouble … Sully dropped the front legs of his chair and peered around the foot which presented it's underlying filth up to be seen. "I can't honestly believe she would be too sore if you weren't back right quick .." he proposed, in all apparence, friendly-like. Still, there was an element of threat about the concept.

That the girl was far … from anything remotely resembling her home. And no one would truly expect her back … soon. Maybe not at all ..



"What do you think ?" he eased his foot from the table top, towing off much of the work which he'd been tasked to before she arrived, all to the floor. And never seemed like it was as much interest to him, as her curious visit. "Sit" he added, quietly. And all the more pronounced despite this. Eyes flicked from Brooke's face, to the seat waiting her. And a subtle but sure lick of the tanner's tongue, motioned her to move, quick. Like a master calls his dog …
All that is gold does not glitter, not all those who wander are lost
The old that is strong does not wither, deep roots are not touched by the frost.

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Brooke
Inside Witchwood Cottage... unfortunately


The screeching of the door made Brooke wince. Not only did it hurt her ears, but the sound itself was both awful and startling, making her freeze in her tracks for a moment. Being the sort who always tried to make as little noise as possible, trying to avoid being noticed or calling attention to herself, it pained her slightly to have the door announce her entry so noisily. He really ought to put some oil or grease on those hinges... it wasn't as if he were short of supply of such things around here. As she entered, she couldn't help eyeing the mess on the floor, wondering what in the world that might be, or what it once was.

The moment the man spoke, breaking the short silence, Brooke jumped slightly, her gaze snapping back to him. Watching him as he leaned the poor chair on its back legs, she couldn't help wondering how he'd react were those legs to snap under his weight. That wood looked awfully thin compared to how much he must weigh. He ought to be more careful, she thought, almost holding her breath. He'd be angry, she was sure, and might take it out on her.

"Ain't that just a thing... A right good favour of a thing, I'd say," he commented.

Brooke fidgeted under his gaze, her hand nervously tightening on her blanket-shawl. What did he mean by that? She wished he'd stop staring at her. The mention of Claire living far from here told Brooke that the man must know exactly who she was, and that she lived in the same house as Claire. Somehow that made her more nervous. She wished no one knew she was in any way attached to that woman.

There was a slight sense of relief, mixed with new anxiety, as Sully's chair returned to all four legs. At least it was in less danger of breaking beneath him, but now he was that much closer to standing up. What if he did? She preferred him sitting, but then, she also preferred to be far from here. If only she hadn't had to bring him this letter. Why was she so stupid as to actually do it? That reminded her of her book, and why she'd come this far. But why did it have to involve all this?

There really should be some sort of boxes for mail, stationed at the edge of every person's property, she decided. Then she could've just stuffed it in there and never had to go all the way to his door. She could've been on her way home by now. Home, if that's what one could call it anyway. Still, it was the only home she had, or had ever known, and she would be worse off to try and leave, she was sure.

These and other thoughts raced through her mind as she stared back at the tanner, her face pale, as her wide brown eyes watched him. What did he intend to do with her? Why did he insist on her coming inside, and then would not take the letter she had offered out to him? Her hand had lowered slightly by now, but still held the letter.

"What do you think?" The question was asked, but what he had said before that she had sort of missed, being so absorbed in thoughts of a box for mail that would have prevented her from being in this situation. What did he say? She frantically thought back. Something about how she wouldn't be missed at home, she thought he'd said. He was exactly right in that, and she knew it. No one would miss her at all. They'd probably even be glad if she never returned. That was not a comforting thought.

The clatter of grotesquely carved bones with sharpened points, and the tools that had been used to do such things, falling to the floor was nearly as frightening as the quiet command for her to sit. She flinched slightly at the noise, and took one tiny, nervous step back from him. Sit? He wanted her to sit with him?! She just wanted to run from here as fast as she could go, and get as far from him and his house as possible. She'd go all the way to Gondor if she could! There was no way she was going to take a seat in here. Besides that, it occurred to her that if she did as he said, then he might expect her to obey everything he ordered her to do. Some part of her mind told her that was not a good thing, and she shouldn't let that happen.

Besides that, the place was too closed up for her liking. Though the door stood partly open, Brooke was beginning to feel smothered. She could hardly breathe. Was it too hot? The warmth had felt nice when she stepped in, but now, with the door still open and letting quite a large draft of icy air in, it seemed hardly likely that it could be too hot in there. Still, she felt like her chest was tightening, her breathing was more difficult and her heart was racing. A feeling of desperation, an overpowering need to get outside, came over her, drowning out all else. 'I must get out of here!' She thought, unable to suppress her panic this time.

If Sully wanted her to move quickly, then he was not to be disappointed, for quickly she did move... though not in the direction he intended. The table was just near enough to drop the letter on it. Once freed from her duty to deliver that letter, Brooke made a break for the door... toward freedom. Though it was freezing outside, the cold air had a welcoming aspect to it at this moment. Surely, anything was better than being trapped in that cabin!

It seemed at the moment that all she had to do was make it across the threshold, and she would be free. Though, rational thought would have pointed out that she would have to get all the way to her father's house before she was anything close to 'safe', and it was a long way through the forest. But the overwhelming panic had taken rational thought from her for the time being. The door was not far away, and stood open to provide her a means of escape. If she could only get past the door...
Last edited by Rillewen on Wed Mar 06, 2024 6:45 am, edited 1 time in total.
"I don't know half of you half as well as I should like, and I like less than half of you half as well as you deserve."

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Aislin
Somewhere near Witchwood Cottage

@Ercassie

The girl stood in the shop for a while, clutching the dress she had received from Brooke close to her chest. Not quite sure how to express her thanks, she hesitated, and meanwhile her new friend had already left. For a few moments more she was indecisive: the warmth of the shop seemed so welcoming, yet Brooke's attitude seemed to suggest that she was about to head into some sort of danger.

Pursing her lips in determination, she hastily stowed away all her new belongings into her pack. It had never been so full before, and Aislin could feel the straps pulling her shoulders back. With a smile and a polite word of farewell to Mr Tunnely, she rushed out into the cold. It took her a while to spot Brooke already a long way ahead, and she realised that all she could do for now was to follow her new friend, as it would be difficult to catch up with the weight of belongings on her back.

She walked after Brooke quite openly, until they seemed to approach some habitation in the midst of wooded area. Angry screams sent her friend into the cover of the trees, and Aislin followed suit. Now she could rather well imagine why Brooke would have rather left her behind and why there was fear.

After this now, the inquisitive girl did not dare to come out on the path again and continued sneaking from one tree to another in the general direction her friend had gone. Focussing her attention some ways ahead, she almost walked into Clay. With a startled cry she stepped back, tripping over her own feet and falling on her bum onto the cold ground. Her eyes round as saucers she wondered what danger she had now stepped into.
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Clayton ‘Clay' Dogwood
Outside Witchwood Cottage, meeting Aislin
@Pele Alarion


It was not unheard of that robbers lived in these dark woods, and it could be said that the young man was robbed of his good sense in coming here. The four other senses though he held, thus far, and so spied out Brooke advancing and then entering the Cottage. She had been 'invited' inside, after all. Sully did not seem opposed to her intrusion, any more than she seemed keen to oblige him. Still, a person didn't come all the way out to Archet without some sort of intention. Clay knew more than he cared to admit on that score.

Stalking the strange girl was something rather less scary than sneaking upon the tanner, so that the youth had more mind to what they were plotting, and less care to how he made his own approach. Whereas the well-used paths and roads in Breetown had worn the snow to thin ice, here where the sun scarcely penetrated through the hooded forest, here the snow was ankle deep at least. Every step that he had took forward, Clay had taken care to turn and cover up his tracks behind him. Now he could not even see which way he'd come. Neither did he notice yet that another girl (Aislin) had come upon the scene, for he was straining to hear what passed for words between the tanner and his guest. Too far away to perceive the knife which Sully had flung at the door, he would only have been more intrigued to note that the girl then went inside ! As it was, he could only assume she was an acquaintance of the man. And there being only the one way to find out more, he crept through the undergrowth, pursuing his quarry, until a sound right close by caught him into a frozen halt.

A cry and a swaddled thump brought the other, smaller, girl out of the treeline, to where she sat, staring up at him from the cold ground. Raising a lone finger to his lips, Clay meant to hiss a 'Shhhhh' to still Aislin, before she called out again. But a swift glance at the cottage door showed no hasty emergence of either of the two within. Surely they were still that far away. Holding out his empty hand, the cobbler's son prepared to hoist the stranger upright, but in stepping forward, his own eyes grew wide as hers in horror all his own.

A snap and a crack signalled too late the rush of steel jaws, and the animal trap closed around the young man's ankle. Lips white, he then broke them apart in a series of small panting, and dropped with no thought now toward caution, into the same wet slush beside Aislin. Luckily his father made good boots, and his flesh was safer than it might have been from the sharp claws of Sully's toy. But still shock set in like a waterfall of frost, and he clutched the snagged limb in both hands, as darkest garnet teardrops fell from the wound to stain the snow.
All that is gold does not glitter, not all those who wander are lost
The old that is strong does not wither, deep roots are not touched by the frost.

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Sullivan ‘Sully’ Spruce
in Witchwood Cottage. Harassing Brooke
@Rillewen

The entirety of time that Brooke had considered her chances of escape, the wind had leaned upon that wooden door, seeing in draw in a little, then retch out a little, as though the whole building was releasing a relentless but equally ragged breath.

The wail of the weather beyond was of course some reminder that life existed beyond the confines of the small cabin, and that might have given the girl hope, but even the screeching of protesting hinges had not been oiled .. on purpose. Sully was quite unaware that Brooke had disapproved of the door’s state, but neither did she know that it was all part of a primeval alarm system. In case anybody ever tried to sneak inside his home without his knowledge. There was of course another integral part of this crude security system, and that was the man himself. The tanner’s talent with throwing knives had not simply been honed by target practice at his wife, although she had grown used to living with such antics. It was what had allowed him to eat, out in the wild. Not that being handy with sharp tools had not proven quite advantageous with his new career here either. Which was all to say that his ‘guest’ ought to have recalled that he threw a knife at the door earlier.


She was lucky that it was something else flung, this time, although ‘lucky’ might have been a stretch of the truth. In the same moment that Brooke had leant quick forth to drop Claire’s correspondence, it so happened that Sully had leant toward one ankle, to resolve an itch. So it was that he was close at hand to seize a piece up of the firewood, with his hand closest to the floor. This hurtled across the room, aimed at the back of Brooke’s head, while he stretched idly out with one leg. The chair opposite him, which he had invited her to sit in, was shuddered by the impact out from under the table, and raced the girl to the door. It came to a close thing, but the wind was eased out and the door slammed it’s final inches like a sullen adolescent in response.

Whether Brooke was in any fit state to now be delayed by the obstacle remained to be seen. Could be that the small log had struck her in the back and merely injured her. Might be that she had dodged it’s path and taken a small diversion to find a chair waited now blocking the door. Or perhaps Sully’s wildest dreams had been accomplished, and the blow had struck the flighty thing about the head and dropped her (he had quite an arm and rarely held back, for where was the fun in that ?) to the ground where she’d have a groaning headache. Such things have been known to daze prey, so that the hunter can saunter over in his own time, grasp it by the hind legs and raise it over his shoulder, claimed his own.


Sully was in no rush to conclude the rather entertaining show of a thing, and had learned that sometimes slow and steady and unceasing can be more unsettling to his foe than would an effective rush. He knew these woods like the back of his hand, and he knew where she lived. There would be no escape for Brooke until he allowed it. For now, he pushed out his chair, flipped his remaining knife from the table in one hand, playfully, and wandered over in her wake and in his own good time.
All that is gold does not glitter, not all those who wander are lost
The old that is strong does not wither, deep roots are not touched by the frost.

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Brooke Willows
Inside Witchwood Cottage

It wasn't the smartest decision to rush for the door, but when one is in a panic, smart decisions tend to get tossed out the window. Brooke was desperate to get outside again, no matter how cold it was out there. She couldn't stay in here with this monster. So she made her dash for the door, which of course went very badly. She was nearly within reach of the door when the small log struck her across the back of the shoulders, refreshing some previous bruises which had partially healed. The door slammed shut, due to the chair that had come flying across the floor. At the same time, her foot slipped on the mess left in the floor and she went down to the floor with a little yelp of pain.

She had no idea what had hit her, but she seemed to still be alive, despite how much her shoulder blades and back hurt. One hand reached to feel the most painful spot, instinctively, and winced. Seconds later, she realized he was coming toward her and hastily tried to scramble up to her feet. Unfortunately, one of her feet had become entangled in the hem of her dress, and her efforts to get up were in vain. Brooke knew now that her attempted escape had been a really, really bad idea. All that it had done was apparently encourage him to pursue her, and possibly anger him. But what did he want?

She was shaking, and didn't know whether it was from cold or fear. She still felt stifled, but not with heat. Each breath seemed like a struggle, and all she could do was try and force herself to calm down, take slow and steady breaths and try to push the panic away. She coughed a few times, and for a moment she feared that she would begin coughing until she couldn't get her breath. Thankfully, she managed to get control of herself once again, and then turned, watching him approach her. He had a knife in his hand. What was he going to do with that? Her gaze fixed on the knife for a moment, her breath catching in her throat for a moment before she remembered to breathe. In.. out.. slow, steady.

Staring at Mr Spruce, Brooke forced her eyes to ignore the knife, moving to stare at his face, instead. She was trying to decide if his face showed whether he planned to murder her or just frighten her. Not that she was any good at gauging such things, but keeping her mind occupied might help keep her from slipping into mindless panic again. She had learned from that mistake, at least, and knew how badly things can go wrong when panic takes over.

"Wh-what are you g-going to do?" Her voice sounded tiny, shaky, and frightened. It sort of slipped out before she had taken the time to analyze if she ought to speak, or decide on what to say, or if she would be better off to keep quiet. Brooke swallowed and tried very hard to look even remotely brave, though she knew she was anything but. If only she could be more like her mother; Cassandra had always stood up for herself and defied fear, or so it seemed to Brooke as a child... and Brooke couldn't even get to her feet. She couldn't even get her breath, for the fear that had gripped her. Left with nothing to do but to watch her soon-to-be murderer coming closer and closer to her, knife in hand, all the girl could manage to do was to try and keep the fear from showing on her face, trying to give the false impression that she wasn't afraid... though she very much doubted as to how convincing it might be.
Last edited by Rillewen on Wed Mar 06, 2024 6:45 am, edited 2 times in total.
"I don't know half of you half as well as I should like, and I like less than half of you half as well as you deserve."

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Sullivan Spruce
with Brooke, in Witchwood Cottage
@Rillewen



He took his time in crossing the small expanse of the open-plan room. Standing on just one foot, then the other, as though he were balancing on stepping stones across a lake. In truth he was toying. The tanner brought each foot down with an almighty thud, which doubtless must have sounded like a thunderclap to the girl floundering upon his floorboards. One foot kicked the offending log out of reach, soon as ever he had come close to it. To ensure that Brooke did not pick it up (if she could. She looked a feeble thing) and try to wield it. At the last possible moment, he glanced down as though regretfully as the log rolled away. It might have been amusing to see her try …

But here she twitched and fluttered, caught up in her own gown, looking to the Man as though she was one of them butterflies, pinned to a frame, and still wondering if it might fly away. She might indeed, if she got caught up by that frigid wind outside. But thankfully a chair stood worthy barricade to discourage her trying to leave .. again.

The girl was shaking and struggling to breathe in such a way that he hardly felt he was owed full credit, which was not to say he would not seize it still. There was no other about which could have scared her so after all. It seemed almost as though he needed do naught but exist, and she cowered. Halting where he stood now towering over his ‘guest’, Sully scratched his stubbled jaw with his knife, contemplative.


What is it I want with you ?” he wondered of her question, as though it had not occurred to him until now of the options. Small speckles of shaved hair dusted Brooke as her tormentor stalled, and kicked at her legs with his large right foot; the motion meant to turn her one way and then the other, as he might inspect what she in fact was. The grime of his boot lined her dress with who knew what but it looked like mud. The Breeman made a good show of wiping most of the caked mess onto her clothes. As though she were a doormat. As though he even owned a doormat. The thought occurred to him now that he might get himself a doormat … then again, maybe he already had ..

You was the one who traipsed all the ways out here, to me, girl,” he reminded Brooke. “For what you would have of me. A right favour indeed, I’ve no doubt. And whatever your Ma wants of me, how’m I to give an answer if you don’t wait around for it ? Eh ? You expect me to walk all the way out to Staddle and back after, when we both know you’re fixed to flee back that way yourself ? Or were you gonna get back there, only to turn round and come trotting out here all again ? Makes no sense at all, girl. What are you ? Some kind of stupid ?

He gave every indication that he expected some answer from Brooke, even as he made his mind up that he could care less for any excuse she could muster. Therefore, without any warning save for being him, Sully dropped one hulking arm and took up a handful of the girl’s dark hair held fast between his fingers. Swinging it behind him, the tanner dragged his new toy back away from any notion of the door, as though she were a sack of squalling kittens to the river, or perhaps a felled beast he had maimed and meant to stuff.


Leaving her down in the dirt, the Breeman found his seat back at the table, and kicked up one foot to gauge how clean he’d wiped it’s leather skin. “That’s what I thought,Sully took up, decisively, where he’d left off, irrespective of whether the ailing little thing could bring herself to cough up a complaint at how he treated her. “So why don’t you sit your bony behind down there while I look over what you’ve got for ‘ole Sully, eh ?

He gave it a moment before fixing the girl a menacing stare. “Well give me the dang letter then !” he stormed, as though she was being belligerent by dawdling. “In fact,” planting his knife to rest in his mouth, blade precarious along his tongue, the tanner’s tone grew no more amiable as he blew a sigh out of his nose and acted hard done by. “while you’re dust idling down there, you might think of cleaning that mess about the floor,” he suggested, none too clearly, although he would dearly love for her to question his say-so. “Since you’ve naught else to do with your time but eyeball me ..


Again, he carried on as though the girl was the one being quite unreasonable. “I’d wager your Mama needs something real bad from me, to send you all this way …” he appeared to muse at this last. Although it could be argued that Sully had put thought to quite how desperate he could see the girl to comply with his every wish …
All that is gold does not glitter, not all those who wander are lost
The old that is strong does not wither, deep roots are not touched by the frost.

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Aislin
Near Witchwood Cottage with Clay
@Ercassie

Aislin could not help but watch each move Clay made, and she wanted to escape but the fear paralysed her. All she could do was sit there and blink; and when he took a step forward, she flinched, half expecting him to lash out at her. Yet, when he extended his hand towards her, she began to believe that he might not intend to harm her.

Just as she debated responding to him and reaching out, the young man was caught up in a trap. Momentarily a thought flashed in her mind that it could have been her to step into it, but the thought left as soon as it came. As they both now sat next to each other, Aislin finally got over her fear enough to feel a trace of care about this stranger, seeing that the trap had injured him.

"Hey..." she began hesitantly, in a quiet voice. "Perhaps I can help you somehow?"

Not that she really knew much beyond placing a bandage on the wound, and she did not have many supplies. Perhaps she should place a lot of snow around Clay's foot? At any rate it did not seem to bleed that much...
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@Ercassie @Pele Alarion


Brooke Willows
Inside Witchwood Cottage

With the amount of time it took Sully to approach, Brooke endured a real struggle not to let the panic take over again. She must hold onto her senses. She was aware now of how stupid it had been to try and rush for the door. She'd known better than that and now she was paying for that mistake. What would he do to her now? Her back and shoulders hurt still from that log, which she saw nearby. So that was what hit her. It was a wonder it hadn't harmed her further. As his foot came back to kick it, Brooke flinched and waited for it to crash into her. Instead, it rolled away from her, which puzzled her for a moment.

Still shaking, Brooke glanced up at him. She tried to tell herself it was from the cold. It hadn't actually been that long ago that she came from outside, after all. Her feet and hands were still thawing and she imagined it would take some time to warm up to proper body temperature. Even so, she knew he wouldn't attribute it all to cold. It was obvious she was afraid and Brooke knew it.

His boot now came toward her and, yet again, Brooke cringed. It appeared that he was going to kick her, so it seemed only natural to put her arms up to protect her head. She kept her eyes squeezed shut as he rubbed his boot all over her dress. How disgusting. She'd seen how muddy his boots were... if that was actually mud. Still, if that's all he planned to do, she'd count herself lucky.

Only at his words did she slowly open her eyes again. Her ma? That brought a bit of indignation flaring up inside. How dare he call that woman her ma? But any protests were forgotten as he continued his rant.
'What are you? Some kind of stupid?'

The accusation brought more of a flinch than when she thought he would kick her. It was almost as if he'd actually slapped her. "...Yes, apparently." She mumbled under her breath, though whether he heard that or not, she didn't know. What was the point in denying it? If she were smart, she'd have never came here at all. Anyone would have to be stupid to come here, knowing what sort of person lived here. What was wrong with her? Thinking of her book, she decided she'd been stupid to not have it hidden away somewhere, so Claire couldn't get her hands on it, like she did. That would have prevented all of this.

Brooke didn't see his hand coming toward her, being so caught up in questioning her own intelligence. A yelp of pain came from her as he dragged her by the hair. Panic threatened to take over again but she forced it back. She refused to let it overwhelm her again. She couldn't let it. Summoning all her willpower, she focused her attention on keeping control of herself, trying to fight tears.

As she was deposited again on the floor by the table, her eyes were threatening tears, from both pain and fear. Unwilling to let him see that, she hastily wiped them away while he was taking a seat. She heard him announce, "that's what I thought." but couldn't bring herself to look up at him. She couldn't help sniffling, but tried to keep it as quiet as possible. He must be referring to her admitting to being stupid. If only she could get out of here...

Jumping as he demanded the letter, Brooke looked up in alarm. Hadn't she put it on the table? She glanced around and spotted it, right where she'd set it, near where she'd been standing before. Timidly, she reached a tentative hand out, as if it were a snake that might bite her, toward the troublesome thing, and slide it further toward his side of the table before hastily withdrawing her hand. "S-sorry." She was confused why he couldn't just reach and get it, but it was probably only a means to frighten her more. It seemed to be a thing he enjoyed, she'd noticed. Too bad it was working so well.

When he stuck the knife in his teeth, Brooke couldn't help thinking that seemed like a bad idea. It looked quite sharp, and was probably dirty, and... wait, he was saying something. Having become used to hearing the slurred speech of a drunken father as well as the drunken babblings of her stepmother, she didn't have too much difficulty deciphering his words. He wanted her to clean up his mess? She blinked and glanced at the floor, then back at him. She had no idea what this stuff was, even. How would she know how to clean it? Did he even know how this sort of mess could be cleaned?

It occurred to her to refuse, but then... what good would that do? A vague memory popped into her head. A conversation she had with her mother once. Maybe Brooke had asked her why she put up with her dad when he was making demands, she couldn't remember. But Cassandra's reply was what stuck with her. 'Sometimes, one must pick the battles that are important to fight... if it doesn't matter, then why waste your energy fighting it? if it's something important, then it's time to stand up and fight for it.'

It hadn't made sense then, but she felt that she understood it better now. Before she could ask for something to clean the mess with, he'd carried on. Again, he called that woman her mama. That brought that flicker of anger flaring up again. She stared at him for a moment, sitting up slightly. "Claire is not my mother." She stated in a quiet, but surprisingly firm tone. "She never has been, nor will she ever be." She felt it important to have that fact be made perfectly clear.

Then she hesitated and looked down, almost as if apologetic for the tone she had taken. Fingers toying with each other in her lap as she fidgeted nervously, she added, "A-Anyway, I-I don't know how to clean up... whatever this is." She kept her gaze down at the floor now, lest she anger him further somehow. "W-What is it, anyway?" She dared ask further, though she worried he might get angry at her for asking.
Last edited by Rillewen on Wed Mar 06, 2024 6:45 am, edited 1 time in total.
"I don't know half of you half as well as I should like, and I like less than half of you half as well as you deserve."

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Clayton ‘Clay’ Dogwood
Outside the cottage, hidden with Aislin
@Pele Alarion


The last time he had been forced to one knee, Clay had proudly asked to wed sweet Berry Finch. The farmer’s daughter had girlishly insisted after his first invitation, that he try again, on one knee. This time, as that time, there was a girl at hand, but that was about as far as the similarities went. His safe leg was sinking into the calm soothing snow, and growing wetter by the minute, but he scarcely even registered this fact. The other leg was folded at the knee so that the ankle was upright, but all above that was slumped down, his behind also swallowed by the wintery carpet.

He had never seen this girl before, and his head was an ocean of swimming questions. But the most determined of these questions was what to do. Thankfully Aislin did not only seem eager to help, but also, was quite quiet in her efforts. He was more thankful for the second of these, as true manly-ness dictated that he ought in fact to try and prove that he was fine and fit. Which was not quite the case.


Instinct nonetheless saw the young man try quite determinedly to prise the firm steel jaws of the metal trap apart, one hand on each side of his throbbing leg. This seemed to be slightly working toward the desired effect, so maybe if he leaned down with enough exertion … Just then the cabin door slammed shut quite loudly and quite close. Or close enough to startle the young man, and cause his trembling fingers to slip. The cruel device jerked back with a spring to take a new bite out of his ankle, and a curse broke from Clay’s lips, even as a tear began to escape one eye. Somehow it hurt worse now than before and he wasn’t sure that unleashing a shout would help, it might bring the tanner running to find his catch .. but still he felt like howling anyway. Glancing around, he wondered if he might fare better to dig out the chain which held the trap into the ground. In case there might be a need to run. But the thought of even trying to run in this state seemed silly, and letting the girl help out seemed to make far more sense.


Hey,” he returned in kind, tipping his head back from where he’d focused on his efforts, to better appraise her, and also to keep himself distracted from crying. Just because he didn’t know her, didn’t mean he wanted the girl to see him crying. “Maybe you can try to pull that side of it out from my leg, toward you, with both your hands, while I pull at this other side with my hands. I’ll just slip my foot out then when the thing has a wide enough gap around it. Ready ?


He wasn’t quite sure if he was ready to try again, but he couldn’t just sit here all night. The young man’s brown eyes hoped that the strange girl was stronger than she looked, but at least two heads, meant four hands, and that was better than two.

Just !” he added, as a panicked afterthought, “Try not to lose your grip. I did that before..” He couldn’t help but mention, though he left out how much it had hurt after he failed the first time. “Ready ?” Courtesy suggested that he should at least ask her name, but he didn’t really want to distract her from the task quite yet. That sort of thing would hopefully keep them both from panicking in just a moment. It will just take a moment, he told himself. And braced to try again. This time with help hopefully.
All that is gold does not glitter, not all those who wander are lost
The old that is strong does not wither, deep roots are not touched by the frost.

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Sullivan Spruce
with Brooke, in Witchwood Cottage
@Rillewen


There was no denying that the letter was within his grasp now. A small fold of paper, Sully turned it over in his hands, over and over some more. He did not look to read it yet though. Not when the girl might come to think that her errand was even close to being over. It had been a surprise, the fact of her fetching it up like he’d told her. And ‘sorry’. He liked that. Compliant … He was almost sorry that he wouldn’t get to knock ten bells out of her, to get what he wanted. Sometimes there was a comforting calm from having made a thing, a person, do what you wanted, against their will. If they simply did it without any fight, then that was their choice. That took away from it being his say so. Sometimes it was most fun when they didn’t do first time.

And just like that, as though the world itself obeyed him, the girl sat up and spoke. And this time no ‘sorry’. The doubt followed up soon after of course, demonstrating that she knew they might be consequences. But no ‘sorry’. Not this time. It bothered him.

Dropping his foot from the table, the tanner retrieved the knife from his mouth with one hand. She was questioning. She was … not doing as he had instructed. She was not ‘sorry’. She would be ! He crouched to his haunches beside Brooke and lifted her chin with the tip of the small serrated blade. Then spat a small spool of blood out of one side of his mouth.

I could have that tongue of yours out on the floor,” he told her, drawing the knife all about her throat as though he were marking a planned incision. “Just like that !” he bellowed, suddenly in the closest of her two ears. Pressing his enormous meaty hand upon her skull, he heaved himself upright, taking his good time about it, to impress the greatest sense of discomfort upon her.

Don’t know how to clean ..” he scoffed, striding away so that he was stood behind the girl. He strove amidst the anarchy of dirty dishes in the crowded wash bowl. “So you aren’t just stupid, but useless as well !” he grouched, accusingly. A medley of clattering occurred as the Breeman evicted saucepans and bowls, until the washbowl was emptied, save of grimy, greasy water. Now exposed, the residue smelt as though it had lain there latent for a week, and small globules of fat bathed upon the oily surface. The ceramic bowl was dumped, unceremoniously, close to the girl’s hand so that it might have crushed her smallest fingers if she did not move in time.

And if I say Claire’s your Mama,” he growled, leaning close to her head so that he could now assault the other ear. “Then that’s how it is,” he decided. “I decide ! I ask the questions ! You … ” he threw himself back into the chair, and rounded his leg up back to the table top. Planting the knife in the scored wood, he put his arms both behind his head and leaned back on two legs of the rickety furniture again. “Do as I tell, girl. Use the water, use your darned dress. Get that floor clean with no more idiot questions, or so help me I’ll break that bowl over your head and watch you lick up the mess and your blood besides ! Do we understand each other ?!

Sprawled on his precarious prop, the tanner picked up the letter from Claire again. He might make her say that Claire was her mama, make her say the words. He had not known, was not curious and truly did not care who her mother was, or how she’d got lumbered with such a life if she wasn’t even a part of that family. But it mattered to Brooke, that much was apparent. It mattered to her enough to speak up, even when she was afraid.

Well she’d swear Claire was her mama, she’d sing it for the entire town, if he said so. If he decided that was what it would take for him to read the letter.
All that is gold does not glitter, not all those who wander are lost
The old that is strong does not wither, deep roots are not touched by the frost.

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Aislin
In the woods, trying to help Clay

@Ercassie

She watched Clay's attempts at getting his foot free, and had to wince, though it was not clear whether she did it at seeing the repeated attack of the trap, or because of the slamming door of the cabin. Regardless, Aislin's thoughts were now split.

What if Brooke really needed help now? She must have entered that cabin, and then there was no knowing of what would take place next, if there was no intervention. And yet, she could not just leave the young man caught up in the trap as he was. Perhaps he could even help later? Though if his leg was now damaged...

A thoughtful frown appeared on Aislin's face, as she looked down at Clay and tried to make a decision. Eventually, she stepped closer and went down on her knees next to him, inspecting the steely trap for a few moments. "I can try to pull it," she agreed, though it had seemed from his own attempts before that it might not be all that easy. And what if the trap suddenly caught her? She hesitated a few more moments, but then cautiously took a hold of thing.

"Ready!" she responded; and ready she was to apply all the strength that she had.
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Clayton ‘Clay’ Dogwood
with Aislin, outside Witchwood Cottage
@Pele Alarion

It was either blood or sweat running down his ankle, and Clay had no means of telling which. There was only the one way to remedy the situation, and thankfully this time he was not the only one working to ensure it. Memory of the recent pain made him count past three, even when he knew he could not count far past a dozen. Still he hesitated, until he saw the resolute expression on the girl’s face. If she could be so brave, then he must.

Ready they were. And pull they did. And though he did not feel entirely ready, the young man lifted his quivering limb out of the metal clasp. It was slow at first to even stir it, and it hurt a whole lot. As the steel teeth pulled free of his ragged skin, this time he was quite certain it was blood staining the inside of his boot. But, although he hadn’t yet tried standing on it, the bone did not ‘feel’ broken. The leather had bourne much of the blow. And hopefully the leather hadn’t been forced into the wound. There were unhealthy looking gaps now in the boot that smudged red when he ran his hand over them. Notions of taking a close look at the state of his skin saw him ponder, building up the courage to dare peek. But he was getting rather ahead of himself now. Even as he turned to manoeuvre his leg safely out of harm, his hold on the cruel device began to waiver at the last.

Ok. Let it ..” he had already done so before ever he said the word ‘go’. And collapsed onto his back, with both hands raising the foot high. Both hands grasped it as though it might fall off else, until gingerly he lowered back to a sitting position and unlaced his boot. It was far too dangerous to discover he couldn’t walk now so best not dwell on that possibility. Instead he managed to tug up his sock a little, doubling it back down over itself to swell it’s cushion between his hurt and the boot. Then laced it back up as tightly as he was able to bear. This noted, he was left with nothing more to think except .. she’d helped. This stranger. That meant he owed her at least words toward distraction..


I’m Clay. What should I call you ?” The hand he held out to her was quickly retrieved though as he puzzled over the odd circumstances. “Wait, whatever are you doing out here besides all that ? The guy who lives in that cottage ..” The cobbler’s son stopped to throw a thumb back in the direction of Sully’s lair, “He’s a nasty piece of work. You don’t want to set around here long. Though,” he scratched the back of his head with one hand, sheepishly, “I ought say thanks that you were. Or are. I should say we’ve both been lucky enough for one day. You want to head back to town.

The last sentence was a whisper, which made it seem all the more strange. It was though in honesty because he’d only just remembered to keep quiet, lest the tanner overhear them. Watching at the door of the cottage a moment, the young man poised ready to .. he knew not what .. should the enormous woodsman come barrelling out at them. When this didn’t happen, Clay sighed with a great relief, and supposed that whatever that Willows girl was doing in there, at least she was keeping the dangerous man occupied. “Unless you’re a dangerous sort of girl of course,” he wondered, overly late in the thought.

Stumbling upright, he took a step backward in trying to balance. And tried to cover this sudden lack of confidence by wobbling slightly, as though his leg was to blame.
All that is gold does not glitter, not all those who wander are lost
The old that is strong does not wither, deep roots are not touched by the frost.

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Aislin
near the Witchwood Cottage with Clay

@Ercassie

It took all her strength to pull on that trap, and Aislin did so puffing out her cheeks and holding her breath for a few moments. Luckily their combined strength was enough for Clay to pull out his foot. Just about. But he released his side of the trap before he had properly warned Aislin, and the girl barely managed to withdraw her hands before she ended up caught instead of the new acquaintance of hers.

She watched Clay deal with the foot what she would call rather carelessly, though a few drops of blood by the treacherous device told her that the steel jaws had bitten rather thoroughly into his foot. "You should bandage it or something," she remarked, though it seemed that it was too late for that now, him being up and on his feet.

"My name's Aislin," she returned the favour of introductions, now that they had dealt with the emergency.

She frowned, hearing that the guy who lived in the cottage was not the nicest thing ever. "Well, I followed my friend. She was mighty afraid and did not want me to come along. She had some sort of a letter to deliver, but I'm afraid that it might not go so well with her in this case..." Even the first letter had caused quite an unpleasant reaction, but judging from the descriptions this might be much worse if the letter contained similar bad news.

"I ought to make sure she is fine. Somehow," she added, though she had no idea what exactly she could do. Tear the house down bit by bit? Girls of her size were not meant to save friends from evil guys, or were they?

Aislin then narrowed her eyes at Clay. "Actually, I could ask the same of you. What are you up to, sneaking around here? Maybe you're as dangerous as you make me out to be?" She stuck the tip of her tongue out at him, chuckled softly and then looked at the cottage through the trees. "I don't really wanna leave before I am sure she's fine," she added more seriously after a moment.
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Clayton ‘Clay’ Dogwood
with Aislin, outside Witchwood Cottage
@Pele Alarion


He had stared at his saviour rather incredulously when she made the smart suggestion about bandages, and might have enquired whether she had any handy in her pockets, for alas he did not. “Did I thank you ?” he asked Aislin instead, recalling his manners. “Don’t worry, I will,” he assured her, and almost toppled over by standing too surely on the put-upon limb.

Aislin” the young man ran the word around his mouth as though debating to swallow or spit it out. Once he had strengthened his standing and coughed as though to dispel that he had ever come close to falling. “I don’t know you,” he decided. This in response to her solid explanation for being out in the wood. As soon as she had mentioned her ‘friend’, the Cobbler’s son began to frown, as though she had said a bad swear. “Your friend ?” he repeated, almost unwilling to accept the turn of events. He had not expected that, for all in the village knew the sorts of things that the Willows family had a hand in.

Oh I wouldn’t fret over much about her,” he shrugged, with a thoughtless inflections about the word ‘her’. “I ‘spect she pays calls on the likes of that brute every day of the week !” he estimated, showcasing a blatant lack of knowledge on his chosen subject. “Have you … ” the thought had just now occurred to him, but seemed it might explain a lot. “Have you not been in Bree very long ?” he assumed.


Brown eyes rolled back in their sockets as Aislin expressed even thoughts of rushing in to ‘save’ the Willows girl. “Well, I’m ..” was as far as Clay got before the stranger poked her tongue out at him, and he broke into a laugh, despite himself, and forgot anything he might have been going to say. “’Sure,” he rolled his eyes again, though this time in acceptance.

Let’s go take a closer look,” he proposed, as though it had not been what he’d been attempting any way, and as though he was doing her some favour. He caught at Aislin’s arm just as they moved to move though, and added, as afterthought. “Maybe watch your step. There’s more I’ll bet,” he indicated the ground where he’d kicked up a lot of the thick snow carpet by now. Here, beneath the trees no beams of barest sun could fight though to melt down the powdered cold with any speed.


Casting a brief cautionary glance behind him, just in case there were folk about who might wonder at the untrained spies, Clay made some complicated gesture that meant that they should head toward the cottage. And hoped she worked out the signal. Soon he had come so close that he thought the girl might gag at all the meat and traps hanging around the porch like some haphazard abattoir. He was almost certain that he might gag himself, at that. “You can still turn back,” he whispered, quite sure that he was talking to Aislin and not himself.
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Brooke Willows
Inside Witchwood Cottage


The short silence that followed Brooke's question was nerve-wracking. Could Mr Spruce hear her heart pounding? It sounded loud in her own ears, and felt as if it were trying to hammer its way out of her chest! She shouldn't have asked what the stuff was. But then, she'd only meant to find out so that she'd best know how to clean it! Still, she could tell she'd done wrongly by asking. His pause was enough to tell her that. Should she apologize? Had she angered him?

What a dumb question, part of her mind responded. Of course he was angry. And if that pause had been frightening, it was nothing compared to what happened next. Trembling, Brooke kept her gaze fixed on the floor as she heard him getting up. Her whole body tensed, trying to prepare herself for whatever he would do. Hit her? Kick her, perhaps? She was used to such treatment. If she could see what was coming in time, maybe she could dodge or block it somewhat. Still, she couldn't bring herself to look up and see what might be coming. She felt she ought to apologize, but couldn't make her mouth work right now. Her eyes squeezed shut, not sure what to expect.

The knife at her throat caught her by surprise. Keeping very still, Brooke opened her eyes as her chin was lifted up so that she stared back at the terrifying man with wide brown eyes. Her lungs seemed to have stopped working, leaving her holding her breath. If he was going to kill her, she almost wished he'd go ahead with it, and stop tormenting her. Or did he intend to terrify her to death? At this rate, she figured it might take about an hour. If she could refrain from saying stupid things that invoked him to further anger, that is.

With startling swiftness, Sully went from quietly threatening her with the knife, to suddenly yelling in her ear. Brooke, already tensed like a spring, jolted back from him in reaction to this unexpected assault on her ears. Even as one of her hands made a move for her head, intending to press it against her ear in an attempt to block out any more loud noises, the man's hand wrapped around her head, pressing. She couldn't help a small whimper escaping, as she wondered if he meant to crush her head or something. Maybe he was going to break her neck?

A few panicked moments later, he had stormed off to dig through a pile of dirty dishes which had been festering in stagnant water for who knew how long. Brooke dared a brief glance toward where all the clattering was coming from, flinching at each noise as if it might mean an impending blow for her. An awful smell began to grow, making her want to gag. She stole a glance toward the door, though that glance was void of hope. That door might as well be miles away, barricaded with all the strongest fortifications, and guarded by the orcs of the Enemy. She had, at least, learned from her mistake earlier. If she was going to escape at all, she'd have to come up with some way of distracting him. Though, how she would do that, she had yet to even give thought to.

So you aren’t just stupid, but useless as well!

Stupid, and useless. The accusation rang heavier in Brooke's ears than what Sully surely realized, making her flinch not so much at his time, but the words he used. She'd heard it many times before, of course, and she wished she could convince herself it was otherwise. "Sorry..." She attempted, though the word had not even been audible. Brooke felt it ought to be said, and was only regretful that she wasn't entirely sure what she should be sorry for. Did he even hear her, actually? She'd barely heard herself, and had found that most people didn't seem to hear things quite as well as herself.

Cringing away from Sully as he neared her again, Brooke barely managed to snatch her hand up from the floor before the heavy-looking bowl landed on it. She coughed, struggling not to let the awful smell of that disgusting water overpower her senses. She suddenly felt a little dizzy, but wasn't sure if it was from that or the overall terror of this experience, or the close proximity of the monster who was terrorizing her.

He seemed determined to insist that Claire was her mother. She would never claim that woman as her mother, and wished she didn't even know her. 'You saying it doesn't make it true.' Brooke thought with a frown, but she kept quiet this time. She'd made it clear that Claire was not her mother. If he wanted to believe lies, that was his problem. It would do no good to argue, but she also would not agree. Best just to keep silent on the matter, at this point. She did, however, give a tiny nod after his last threat, asking if she understood. "I'm sorry..." She mumbled, this time just loud enough to be heard. Her voice quavered slightly, though she wished it wouldn't.

With a supreme effort, Brooke kept herself from crying as she took a glance around. There must be something to clean it with. She couldn't really use her dress, or at least, she was unwilling to. But there was something on the floor that she hadn't spotted before. A rag, perhaps? A towel? She seized it with some hope. It was already soaked with whatever was on the floor, so it wouldn't hurt it further to be used to clean up the mess.

As much as she was repulsed by the disgusting water in that bowl, Brooke tried not to think about what might be floating -or even growing- in it, as she dunked the cloth in and rung it out. It took her a moment to realize it was a shirt. A shirt that had been ripped open, apparently. She blinked at that, and tried not to think too much about it as she reluctantly began to scrub at the floor, still fighting tears.

There was one tiny glimmer of comfort in all this horrible situation, at least. That was the fact that she'd left Aislin safely in Bree, where she would be far from Sully's wrath. At least there was that, and Brooke tried to find some consolation in that thought. Aislin ought to be safe from him, regardless of what happened to Brooke.
Last edited by Rillewen on Wed Mar 06, 2024 6:46 am, edited 1 time in total.
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Aislin with Clay
Near Witchwood Cottage

@Kissed by Fire

"Well, yes, I have arrived only recently," Aislin explained, "Little wonder you don't know me. Had to come here looking for ways to survive..." She wasn't sure she wanted to reveal all the history to the guy she had just met; besides, it pained her to think of it, and she was afraid that tears might come to her eyes unbidden. After all she was trying to paint a picture of being somewhat tough and unafraid.

Seeing Clay's attitude, the girl frowned. She knew nothing of Brooke's family and their doings, all she had to go by was what she could deduct from their meeting. "I don't think she does things like that each day..." she objected in defence of her new-found friend. "She seems like a nice girl, and doing this definitely had her scared."

But all things considered, it was good that Clay had agreed to investigate a bit closer. Keeping in mind the cruel steel device, Aislin made sure to glance all about for any others, though it would be hard to see them under the snow. She blinked at the gestures Clay showed her, but since he made to move forward, so did she, supposing that if she did not get the meaning and it was important, he'd explain it.

When the cottage came properly in sight, the girl could not help but wrinkle her nose in disgust. "Gross..." she whispered under her breath, and then couldn't help but wonder if the man living within ate also any humans that happened to fall into his traps. She looked wide-eyed at Clay, as her imagination ran away with the wild pictures it created in her mind. What if he was currently cutting Brooke into pieces or maybe boiling her whole in some huge cauldron? Why had the girl even entered? As far as Aislin was concerned, she'd just have thrown that letter at the house and ran away.

"No... not back," she whispered at Clay, though she had no clue what else was to be done. And what if that horrible man came out to catch them? She shivered involuntarily at the thought.
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Clayton Dogwood, with Aislin
Creeping up on Witchwood Cottage, Archet
@Saruman - or not?

There was no time to school the strange girl on the entire social history of Bree and she seemed set upon her opinion regardless. That Aislin was new to the area explained an awful lot, but Clay felt that she might want to rethink her efforts as a way to survive. Associating with local deviants and sneaking around Archet was a good way to get anyone killed, least of all a young girl who did not know much of where she was or what abided there. If the Willows girl had been not keen to visit Sully Spruce, that just meant she was not stupid. It might just mean that she was an extremely good liar.

Right. We go round,” the cobbler’s son walked his fingers in front of Aislin’s face, to show walking, “Around the cottage,” he continued in a whisper. There seemed to be a lot of banging going on inside, but best they were sure on what was going on, before they barged in. “In a circle,” he winked. The footsteps might then temporarily confuse anyone who came outside to seek out trespassers. “If you see something that looks like it might be used as a weapon, pick it up. Quietly,.” he advised. Hopefully there might be something more useful than all the death which hung in half-frozen shrouds and icy clumps of meat.


There was something to be said for the snow at least, it’s cool carpet was a soothing burn of anaesthesia for the young man’s ankle. After stepping too deep in one patch of the numbing drift, Clay leant down and shovelled some of the floury cold crystals in to melt around his sock. This made his foot more wet than it had been, but also it ensured that the torn skin did not hurt so much. It simply felt cold, which he felt was doing some good. The pain of extreme cold was far preferable to the pain of the metal trap. His foot was growing so numb he could barely feel any pain at all from it now.

If he comes out, dive into a bush or behind a tree, and he will follow these footprints round the cottage for a moment at least to give us a headstart.” It was good to have a plan, he felt. Even though the coming here at all had been an especially bad plan. He had not answered Aislin when she’d asked what he was doing here. That too would have required too much time they did not have. But now as it came down to it, he stopped to wonder if the girl herself were involved with Sully. He knew naught about her, after all, but her name and her tendency to trust those no one else trusted.

There again, she had helped him out, he recalled. If she had been of the Spruce tendency, she might have more likely laughed, or yelled for the man to come see what he had caught. She had helped instead, and she did seem sincere. It was hard to judge her for trusting first impressions of the Willows girl, when he was trusting his own first impression of Aislin !


Just once around,” he mouthed, quietly. “Oh and warn me if you see that frightful woman coming back,” he added in an after-whisper, placing then a finger on his lips before he’d ever wondered rightly whether Aislin had seen Bryony leaving. Once around, he figured, and so it began, a round tour of the dead things and their death traps that decorated the cottage.
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Aislin with Clay
Roaming around the Witchwood Cottage, Archet

@Kissed by Fire

Aislin's eyes remained round, though no longer with fear of what might be happening but due to focusing on what Clay was explaining. Since she had come all the way and found him, it was better to trust his discretion, as he seemed more familiar with these people, and perhaps surroundings?

Walking, weapons, and a returning woman. Aislin wondered whether they would find anything useful in their walk, but she was intent on doing her best to save her friend if she was even alive and not cut into pieces. Her heart was beating fast as she nodded her understanding and leaned down slightly to avoid being seen from windows as she followed Clay.

Cautiously she put one foot in front of the other, as she glanced in every which way. She scanned the ground to find a weapon, and then looked back and sideways to see if there were no women coming. She had an image of both the man and the woman of this cottage to be huge, evil and probably hairy and shaggy (though she could not explain this last idea). However, she did her best to fight off the desire to try and peek inside to see what was going on there.

Soon afterwards her toes struck something on the ground, and she leaned down to pick up a stick. It was not big, so it would be of no use to hit anyone with, though perhaps she could thrust it at the evil man's eye if it came to it. Aislin shivered at the thought of having to face anyone scary and big, and having to fight for her life. But then again, she had not had any friends for a good long while, so she was not about to give up a possibility to save the newest one from trouble, if she could help it.

Holding the stick tight with her freezing fingers, she hastened to catch up with Clay as she had remained slightly behind while examining her weapon.
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Sullivan Spruce with Brooke
Inside Witchwood Cottage
@Purrmonster of Doom


The pleasure that he took in beholding the little drudge at her work, was so grand that Sully near forgot the reason she was here at all. Not that he’d truly uncovered that reason yet. He wasn’t all that interested at the moment.

Well ?Sully drawled, and slammed the chair back down onto it’s four legs, when there – still – came no answer ! She had nodded, perhaps, or might be that she was simply trembling so well it seemed as so. But he wanted her to say the words. “Don’t look to me as if you understood one piece,” he appeared to lament, although the leering grin about his massive jaw was contradictory. The Breeman dropped down close beside Brooke, almost as though he cared for nothing for keeping her from doing as he’d said. But there, she had not done as he had said at all ! His hand dropped down over her own, anchoring her fingers and the ruined shirt beneath. “Does that look like a dress to you ?” he wondered. “Maybe you would like to wear it ? Since you’re so sure it’s a dress. Since if it isn’t a dress in your hand, mopping down my floor, then you aren’t doing what I told you !

This last was bellowed into the girl’s ear again. All the better to throw her off whatever game she thought that she was playing. All the better to grip his other hand tightly around the girl’s neck, and force her head toward the putrid water bowl, face first. There was little that he might imagine she could manage to stop him, from dunking her mewling features into the fetid swamp of grey water. There was little reason why he would not, so he plunged his hand, meaning to hold her under the dingy surface just long enough .. that it might please him.

Well” he heaved himself upright again afterwards, using the same act of leaning hard upon her frail figure. “You ain’t crying now are you ?” he all but dared Brooke, though to agree or deny would bring her the same consequence of course. Let her cry ! Let her wash the floor with her tears and then perhaps she would prove some use after all. Maybe there were tears and maybe there was only dripping from the dunking. Either way Sully wasn’t the least bit satisfied yet.


Now if you can see better, get out of those rags you are wearing, put on the dress that you’ve been using, and use the old rags to finish up your work. Or do you need another good swim in ..

A crash at the front door caught the tanner off, mid-sentence.
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Clayton Dogwood, luring Sully Spruce
from Witchwood Cottage, and from Aislin and Brooke
@Saruman - or not? @Purrmonster of Doom


What had seemed moments before as the perfect way to gather Sully’s attention, now seemed moment later to be the most stupid of all things he had ever done. And that might just be saying something, at least Cole should say so. But Clay had walked, lurched might be a better description, his way around the cottage, shuffling through snow without picking his feet. The idea was that his toe would bump into any more metal traps rather than plant his entire foot (again) inside their grasp !


There had not been much in the way of weapons that he had obtained upon this round. The traps and hooks would not be dislodged from where they were securely hung, and the young man might have fretted that, by tugging at their jangling obstinacy, he’d call for the tanner to come out and see for all the noise. But there had been quite a substantial amount of noise emanating from inside the cottage. Yelling, slamming, it did sound that Aislin had been right, in so far as the Willows girl must be regretting her decision to visit. At any rate, the noise within smothered the noise without, and Clay was able to even trip over a giant severed antler without being discovered.

He had shambled in his circle around the entire cottage and slowed there for his accomplice to catch up. The girl had obtained a large stick somewhere along her way and he nodded quite approvingly. “I’ll get him to come outside and follow me. You get your friend away from here,” he whispered, though he might have shouted and Sully might have been still engaged in his horrific fun. The cobbler’s son rubbed his cold hands together and then strengthened their grip upon his antler, emitting short gasps of hot air, to build his confidence.


There was little more to say that she might stop to question, and so he gave little chance. A last wild gesture for Aislin to duck out of sight around the corner, and Clay stepped to the front door. One last glance about the scene convinced him that Bryony must be occupied now elsewhere, so there was naught left to do but rap hard against the wooden portal and then ‘gallop’ in a haphazard state of a headstart, for when Sully invariably emerged.

The door creaked a slow and eerie warning that barely preceded what followed. Sully, having aimed a warning blow at Brooke to stay down, trudged outside. The cold caught him at the porch, and he narrowed his eyes at the pathetically lolloping youth. Was the fool not too old now for knocking doors only to run away ?


You think you can lay traps about out here ? You won’t get away with this ! I’m going to run tell Miles BrackenbrookClay proposed, as Sully glanced back toward the warmth of his home, and his plaything yet within, begrudgingly. The youth, spying some hesitation in the tanner’s want to chase, flung the missile of the antler with all his might, where it slowly lost both height and momentum in the distance that It travelled, and struck the tanner in the shin. The momentum carried Clay to fall down but he clambered upright again, mostly, before returning to the slowest escape known to man. At least if Mr Spruce killed him, this time there would be witnesses.


Well that ain’t what I’d call ‘running’” Sully returned, after a curse at the blow. Suspicious of some set-up, he nonetheless picked up the antler and gripped it firmly in one hand. Then turned and grabbed a padlock from his pocket. Jamming the door locked with it, there remained naught else to keep him from leaping from the porch, to show the youth what true speed looked like. Clay, having realised belatedly, that he’d discarded his only weapon, turned up a new degree of speed himself, that he had not known he could manage, and did not believe that he could very long keep up. Because the larger, uninjured, man would catch up rather quickly. Aislin would have to be quick as well.
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Brooke Willows
Inside Witchwood Cottage


The chair slammed down to the floor, making Brooke jump, flinching in fright. What was he angry about this time? Terror made her tense up, glancing up at him uncertainly. What had she done wrong? She was trying to clean the floor, just like he ordered! That wasn't even why she'd come here, and she wanted nothing more than to leave, but of course, she'd done something wrong, again.

Soon he let her know what it was, yelling about the shirt she had chosen to use. She had misunderstood, thinking he had meant 'use whatever's at hand', not that he actually did want her to use her dress! Brooke really could be stupid sometimes, couldn't she? Hastily, but too late, she tried to retreat. He grabbed the ruined shirt, along with her hand, and proceeded to yell in her ear. Cringing, trying to pull away from him, Brooke flinched a little with each word. In near-panic, she tried to pull her hand away from his, desperate to get further away from him.

Before she could manage that, he had his hand around her neck, pushing her down. In terror, she struggled to resist without being sure what he really intended to do. She choked on the horrid, disgusting water that filled her nose and mouth. Panic set in for the moment, her one free hand flailing in desperation to do something, though she knew not what. Push herself out of the water, perhaps. Knock the bowl over, even better. She couldn't think of anything but a natural instinct to survive, at the moment. That, and a horrible memory she'd tried hard to forget.

Her thin frame shaking hard as she choked and coughed, Brooke was hardly aware that Sully had let her up out of the water. Dimly, she realized it as she fought to suppress the memory of another time she was held under water. She struggled to get a grip back on the present, trying to make herself breathe. Her eyes stung from whatever greasy substance was in that water, and she certainly could not 'see better'. His orders filled her with further distress and panic. In a frantic struggle to get away from him, Brooke knocked into the bowl, quite without actually intending to, and the putrid water spilled all over the floor as the bowl tipped, soaking her skirt and all else nearby. At least he couldn't dunk her head again, though she had a feeling he'd find something else, if he wanted to.

But before he could torment her further, Brooke was startled by a sudden pounding at the door. Coughing and choking, she jumped, staring wide-eyed toward the door. Who else could have come out this way? Sully, she noticed, seemed just as surprised and mystified. To her great relief, he abandoned her at last. She sat frozen in place, too terrified to make a sound, or to move. He had left the room, but he would be back.

Her ears still ringing from his shouting in them, Brooke stared after him, at the door. It was closed tight. There was no escape that way. What could she do? She couldn't hope to get past him, and she couldn't fight him, but she couldn't just sit around waiting for him to come back and finish tormenting her, either. There must be a way out of here, somehow.
Last edited by Rillewen on Wed Mar 06, 2024 6:46 am, edited 1 time in total.
"I don't know half of you half as well as I should like, and I like less than half of you half as well as you deserve."

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Aislin
At the Witchwood Cottage

@Kissed by Fire , @Purrmonster of Doom

The girl found herself staring at the young man in some wonder, as he displayed the amount of courage which he seemed to lack when caught by the trap. When he laid out his plan, Aislin only nodded her head in respectful agreement and backed away to await what would happen. All the knocking and teasing seemed to work, and soon the big man was out and after Clay; the girl would have cheered her acquaintance on to run faster, but then again it would turn the man towards her instead.

Having waited for a few moments, she almost tiptoed to the door and tried to open it, but it was locked tight, and Aislin did not possess capacity to unlock it one way or another. For a few moments she looked around, being at a loss; then proceeded to one of the windows and attempted to stare through it. "Brooke!" she whispered through the glass. What could she do to help her friend? Her eye fell on the stick she still held in the hand. With a sudden decisiveness she attacked the window with her stick; at first it seemed that nothing would happen, but as she applied more strength, eventually she managed to shatter it. Wincing as a few shards managed to leave small cuts on her unprotected hands, she cleared enough space for her to come in close and look in again.

"Brooke! Come on out!" she called hastily, looking around for her friend, and then seeing her sitting on the floor, looking like quite a miserable heap. What had that beast done to her? They had to get out before he returned...
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Brooke Willows
Inside Witchwood Cottage


Someone was yelling outside though she couldn't tell who or what they were saying. Brooke hugged her bag close against herself, debating whether she ought to dare digging out the dagger she kept within, but something told her that was a bad idea. Very bad, considering how he'd thrown the knife before. Best not to even let him know she had any sort of weapon, but what could she do? The sudden crash of glass breaking made her jump nearly out of her skin. Gasping, she glanced around hastily, wide-eyed as she sought the source of this latest noise.

"Brooke!" Someone hailed her. Brooke turned, discovering that the window had been smashed! Mouth dropping open slightly, she stared in shock, feeling cold air drifting in through the opening, as Aislin bid her to come out and join her. Astonished, and a little horrified to see her friend here, rather than safely in town, Brooke couldn't move for a moment. Then, realizing this was her chance to escape, she scrambled to her feet, hastening to the window. "Aislin!" She whispered. "What are you doing here?" Worry for her friend cut through to her heart. What if Sully came back and captured her, too?

They must move quickly! Snatching the rags she'd been using to mop the floor, Brooke put the ruined shirt to good use, protecting her hand as she knocked out the remaining broken glass from the window frame. She tried to make sure there weren't any shards that might harm her, then dragged a chair over. She was already quite well-accustomed to climbing in and out of windows, and in no time she had joined Aislin outside. An icy breeze reminded her that it was quite cold out here, and she was quite wet. Too late, she realized that she'd left her blanket-cloak in Sully's house, where she'd dropped it by the door during her panicked attempt at an escape. She wasn't going back for it now, lest he return and she would be trapped for good.

"H-how did you..." She began, staring in awe at Aislin, then shook her head. Important things first. "Let's get out of here, b-before he comes b-back." Brooke was already beginning to shiver, but she tried to ignore that. It would be foolish to stick around longer than necessary. She doubted they could get far before he caught up to them, but it was better to try than to stand around and wait for him to capture them both!
Last edited by Rillewen on Wed Mar 06, 2024 6:46 am, edited 1 time in total.
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Aislin
Near Witchwood Cottage

@Purrmonster of Doom , @That Other One

It took a while Aislin's friend to take the opportunity of the smashed window, but soon she did so, first taking care to remove any remaining glass.

"I couldn't help but follow you," she explained to Brooke in short words of what had happened. "Came upon someone here, by the name of Clay. He lured that big guy off..." Her voice trailed away, as she imagined all the horrible things that could happen should Clay fall into the hands of the mentioned man. Someone who had laid traps around his house and was holding little girls captive in his house would surely have means to do evil.

Aislin took Brooke by the hand and set off into the direction away from where Clay and the burly bandit-looking guy had gone. "Let's hope we have enough time to get far enough, maybe find someone," she added hopefully. "Get some help and all." She wasn't that sure though that there would be any forthcoming help, but the situation was awful enough to try at least, and maybe he could help Clay too!

"Let's run! It will keep us warm too," she urged. "You can run, yes?" the girl evaluated her friend quickly to see if there were any obvious injuries that would make her unfit for running. At least Brooke's foot was not in a trap, so she assumed that her legs would be working. So off she went in the general direction of Mr Peppermint's home, pulling Brooke with her.
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Clayton ‘Clay’ Dogwood fleeing from/ahem, I mean luring away Sullivan ‘Sully’ Spruce
Some ways into the woods from Witchwood Cottage
@Rillewen @Pele Alarion


It had not occurred to the young man to think of where he was going, for the thought of rather ‘why’ he should keep going chased out all else. The heavy thud of Sully’s tread pounded at Clay’s ears, even as the scornful ground seemed to consume a greater portion of his leg, every time that he sank a boot into it’s deceitful dusting.

His fingers were burnt through to the bone with chill, and his injured foot was dragging, even if the other one was not. He might as well have been heaving a carcass behind him, except that the carcass was in fact him, or would be very soon. Air ran in riotous panic through his lungs, unsure how long he could keep this up. Outrunning the ogre, who was ploughing massive impacts through the drift, like the drag of it was no more to Sully than a pile of fallen leaves in autumn .. outrunning that ? Was just not going to happen. And the trail that the young man wrought with every stumbling inch of progress meant that the tanner would read from his subdued prints exactly where he had gone. Clay was losing his headstart, and Sully was brandishing the severed antler, side to side, in the air with one hand. It might have been the blood rush or the pain, but at one point Clay could have sworn, his pursuit literally threw his shaggy head back on it’s neck and howled, like a beast moving in for the kill.

The bracken reared up like a hurdle, even as the desperate youth turned back from the latest of frantic glances over one shoulder. He tumbled clear over the first tangle of scrub, and dropped a rather ‘Clay-shaped’ mess into the thick snow on the other side. It was not a soft enough landing to keep him from smarting, but still he sat up with a smile. And the recognition that he had come far enough now from the clearing, that this spelled the earliest reach of the wilder foliage .. undergrowth was ever more present all about him, like great strings of natural barbed wire, coated by heavy clumps of snow on the top. All he had to do was keep the brushwood between him and the furious giant; if in fact he could somehow disappear beneath the unfriendly bushes, then he could move without leaving a trail behind him. And perhaps find some way to back track, or else hunker down and hope that Sully tired.


The tanner staggered to an abrupt stop as he blinked, small flecks of the perpetual snowfall assailing his view. It was not enough to keep him however, though the lad seemed to have gone to ground. Not a wise decision when there were snares laid in hedgerow, and traps under snow. Mr Spruce knew well enough where each and every one of his surprises were set. It was only a matter of time before the fool boy ran into one of them. It was indeed a miracle, the man snorted, that Clay had not already run afoul of one.

Still, the youth was not half so clever as he believed he was. Scuttled underneath the bracken he had, so there would be no more prints left out for all to see. But neither was there need for the hunter to depend on them. Not when every claw and finger of that same bracken tore and pulled at the lump who disturbed it’s underbelly. Sully let the antler drop to his side, still in grasp, as he shook his head, watching the slow progress, the telltale rustling, and occasional hiss or grimace, which betrayed his quarry’s snail-pace escape.

He took his time banishing the gap between them, sure that there was nowhere that the fool had left where he could not be squarely found soonafter. Then Sully would demonstrate quite how to properly hurl a heavy severed antler. Thwacking it resolutely against one thigh, the enormous Breeman followed the blatant path of what he thought to be a sure thing.


It was as much a blow to him as a fortunate stroke of luck for Clay when that young man came close to a large embrace of tree roots, congesting his path beneath the scrub maze. The dark mouth of a tunnel, supported by this knot of greater support, fell away into a deepness of the earth, untouched by snow, though dressed in darkness. In the same moment that the tanner grasped with a formidable meaty hand to seize his prize up from the undergrowth, Clay wriggled just far enough into the tight tunnel to kick his feet out of grasp. A second, more committed attempt to win out, saw Sully down to his knees, lunging for what he could still see of the youth. There was a dread struggle for a moment, until a floundering kick caught the man’s fingers, and rustled away. Dragging himself forward on both elbows, head scarce high enough to keep from eating dirt along the way, Clay shuddered and scrambled with the dead weight of one foot as he inched more on one side, then hauled the other behind him. Until the tunnel grew wide, and he could sit, albeit hunched, beneath what must be an enormous tree above him. Gingerly he clutched with one hand to his boot, and instantly regretted it. For pain sprinted the length of the ankle and invited a spasm of complaint.

There was nothing more to do but catch his breath, and count his blessings, and not begin to wonder what had made such a sizeable tunnel .. or what he might have therefore just intruded upon. In the dark it was impossible to know. Still the rush and the earth and the closeness of his sanctuary was a brief respite from the bite of winter beyond. Not so much that he could forget what had seen him here in the first place though. Scrambling and scratching echoed with a string of curses down the length of his escape, evidence that Sully was still out there.


Having torn aside the greater portion of begrudging bracken in his way, the tanner threw a scowl at the exposed hole that his own impressive bulk was far too wide to trial. Still, he would not have it said that Sully Spruce might be bested. A sizeable rock was close enough at hand, for the immense man to rid it of a snow-tophat and half roll, half drag over, meaning to seal the subterranean channel.

You ain’t going nowhere lad,” the declaration was pronounced, before the resting rock was set in place. After all it was customary, to utter final words, before a body was given to the ground for all time. “End of the line. I’m something of a magician, see. And here’s the part where you disappear.

I’m not .. the first .. one .. to vanish,Clay expelled the reply back in short spurts, sounding rather more bold than he ought be. For Sully had not yet a clue that by the time he returned to his cottage, Aislyn would have disappeared Brooke.

Fair’s to say you’re not,” the tanner admitted, with a shrug, thinking this a confession spoke to the dead. “Won’t be the last neither at that. But don’t you worry about that. You got enough to be worrying about now. Go to ground, little worm.

The stone teetered on an uneven rump and then lurched at the man’s hearty shove and settled. Sully patted it once, with the satisfaction of a job done, wiped in vain to see the damp from where he’d kneeled, and then strode back, with a whistle, to the other little fool he’d put in place.


When he reached the cottage, when he tore aside the door, the bravado was punched from his face, along with a slow growing anger, to see the broken window. It took the massive man a moment, long enough to snort like a bull through both nostrils, long enough to prise the knife free that he’d planted in the table top. And then he saw himself from the small home, saw the door to that home almost from it’s screaming hinges, and spied out the small tracks in the snow leading in the opposite direction to that he had took last time.

The weather was not wild enough to snuff out the prints that Brooke and Aislyn had taken. It was certainly not the sort of weather which would keep the man from taking up after the two who believed that they had escaped him. After all, this was his wood, this was his home. There was no place for them to hide where he would not hunt them down and find them. After all, he knew where Brooke lived .. It was only a matter of time.


Time was all that Clay had, and he wasn’t quite sure how much. There was no light, there was only trepidation as he groped about him blindly in the hole, seeking for some sign of another way out. As chance would have it, thought it might be a push to say he was having a lucky day, there was another tunnel, leading off, and not such a tight squeeze at that. Having torn the lowest edge of one already soaked sleeve off his shirt, the young man bound it tightly over his boot, where it hurt the worst, but would hopefully keep his foot from falling away from the rest of him.

After a few wince-inviting attempts, he began to crawl, as manfully as he could in the bleak ignorance of what he was doing. All this because he had wanted to learn what Sully was hiding in the cottage. All this because he was so determined to prove the tanner had murdered Berry’s grandfather ! There was little satisfaction in learning just how well Spruce could dispose of people he wanted no one to ever find again.

Satisfaction was the furthest thing from Clay’s mind in fact, as he plunged his fingers onto what could only be described as a skull, .. in the very place where light suddenly shone down from up high. There could be no mistaking it. Bryony Spruce had many hidey holes, and this was the one she’d chosen to stow the decapitated head of Dorian Bay. Berry’s grandfather. The evidence which he had sought so surely in his hand, Clay might have begun to wonder if he could now climb up to the higher exit of this second tunnel, and get out. When he had recovered from the literal skull in his hands ! Yes, that was going to take a moment ...

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@Ercassie @Pele Alarion


Brooke Willows
Woods near Witchwood Cottage


Everything was happening very fast. She had only just climbed out of the window when Aislin was trying to pull her off into the forest. Brooke heard a brief mention about someone... someone named Clay? Clay... Clay Dogwood, that's who it must be. She'd heard the name before. He was fairly well-known in Bree, though Brooke wasn't sure that she'd ever actually met the boy. He never really spoke to her, but she knew he had a family. She'd heard talk about his upcoming wedding, and the fact that he had a child on the way. Compared to most of the rumors that circulated about her own family, that was nothing to blink at.

No sooner had those thoughts swirled through her mind; recalling who Clay was, and trying to swiftly put together what was happening, than Brooke heard the young man calling out, and she paused to glance back, gasping softly as she watched him actually taunting Sully Spruce! The tanner was going to murder him! Having stopped in her tracks, Brooke hardly felt the tug as Aislin's hand pulled at hers, watching in horror as the monstrous man took off chasing Clay. What was he doing? Why would he do it? Was he a total idiot? How could he possibly think this was a good idea? And for her? She was baffled... no one did anything for her, especially nothing dangerous. Without thinking, she took a few steps toward the scene, a subconscious part of her brain thinking to rush to Clay's aid and try and distract Mr Spruce from him... but that's what Clay was doing, she realized.. it would only get them all discovered, and then his efforts, and possibly sacrifice, would have been for nothing.

Still, she felt as if she couldn't move as she watched the horrific tanner chase a limping Clay off into the forest. She couldn't just run off to safety and do nothing, while Sully might be murdering her savior. They had to do something, help him... he had helped her, now how could she return the favor?

As she stood there, mildly aware that Aislin was trying to get her to run, Brooke was shivering the whole time. Most of her dress was soaked, and it wasn't very warm to begin with. Now, without even a blanket, Brooke was sure that she would be frozen before she ever made it back home. Home, which wasn't a very enthusing prospect under normal circumstances, but right now it seemed almost welcoming. There was, at least, a little wood stove there, which kept the main part of the house warm. That warmth didn't generally make its way into Brooke's room, but at least she had a chance to get warm there. Thoughts of her mother flashed through her mind. That led to thoughts of when she was little, and her mother used to take her for walks in the forest. She'd tell Brooke stories about her father, who was a ranger, and some of the things he had taught her.

Glancing around, Brooke bit her lip as she tried to form some sort of a plan. "He'll f-find our t-tracks..." She told Aislin, a bit panicked as she hugged herself to try and stop shivering so much... a fruitless attempt. "He'll follow us..." She had no doubt that he would chase them, or rather Brooke, just as he had chased Clay. He would surely be furious that she had escaped. 'Think... what would my grandfather do?' She thought frantically, and took a shaky breath. 'There must be something we can do...' Brooke wasn't good at this. She didn't know how to do things... anything, especially not things involving danger. She couldn't hope to defeat Sully in his own territory... she ought to run back the way she came and get home as quick as possible... but something held her here in spite of her fear and panic. The thought that someone, someone she didn't really know, had risked his life to help her. She had to try and help him, if there was any chance at all of doing that. But how? She was useless, she knew nothing about this sort of thing. 'I am Bronaeth.' She reminded herself, feeling a tiny sense of calm return to her mind at the memory of the name her mother had called her.

"Hold on..." She thought of an idea, suddenly. "D-double...tracks.." She had spotted how Aislin's tracks in the snow led all the way around the house, and pointed. "Y-you w-wait here," She only hoped Sully wouldn't come back too soon. "Only..one s-set.. of t-t-tracks.." She tried to explain, and set off in the direction that Aislin had been going to go. She hurried some ways into the forest, hoping that she wouldn't run into anything unpleasant... and then paused, glancing around. She had to cover her tracks.. somehow. Make it obvious that if they had been covered. Grabbing a pine bough full of bushy needles, she smiled faintly and started using it almost like a broom, to cover up the last part of her tracks, steadily backing up over her own tracks. After covering up the last few yards of her tracks, she tossed the bough aside and continued backing up until she met up with where she had told Aislin to wait, making sure that she left two clear sets of tracks heading off that direction.

Pointing to the tracks that were left in the snow, she hoped to make Aislin understand her idea. "Hopefully, he'll s-see th-those, and g-g-go after us... b-but we'll b-be going.." She pointed the direction Clay had gone. "That w-way." She only hoped they wouldn't be too late by the time they found Clay. Tugging Aislin's arm, she pointed to indicate they should follow Aislin's own tracks around to the back of the house. She wasn't sure if Aislin would go along, but hoped she would. Either way, she was going and if Aislin didn't come along, then she'd just go by herself.

Pausing at the back corner of the cabin, behind a wood pile, Brooke watched the forest for a moment. All seemed still. They must be a long ways into the forest. She took a moment to think, and decided that she would probably be able to hear Mr Spruce coming from a long way off, if he started to return to the cabin, and so after taking another shaky breath, she set off determinedly to follow the trail left by the tanner and the wounded young man. There were specks of blood all along the trail, proof that the boy was, in fact, wounded, and Brooke wondered how he'd managed to keep so far ahead of the terrifying man so long as he had.

Suddenly, ahead, she heard sounds in the distance, ahead of her. She froze in her tracks.. quite literally, considering how cold she was, and listened. It was hard to hear much over the hammering of her own heart, but then she nodded to herself. He was coming. "Hide!" She whispered urgently. Swiftly, she left the trail and ducked behind a very large, wide tree. An oak, she was pretty sure. She brushed against a few saplings in her haste, which deposited quite a bit of fresh, powdery snow onto the ground. Glancing back, she was pleased to see how well that had covered up any tracks she had made in leaving those she had been following.

All the while, the sounds drew nearer as the man strode toward them through the forest. Whistling. As if there was nothing at all terrifying going on. That sent fresh chills of horror through Brooke's already-shaking frame, and she held her breath as she pressed her back to the tree, waiting.. fearing he would spot her, or Aislin, or something amiss that would lead him to her. Still, as she listened, the whistling carried on... he passed her location, and then... went on his way. She stayed still, listening hard, her heart pounding. She couldn't help feeling a little lightheaded from holding her breath for so long. She slowly exhaled, wondering how long it might take him to realize that she had laid a false trail.. if she was lucky, he wouldn't realize it at all, but she doubted she'd get that lucky. She never had much good luck, and she doubted that her foresting skills were any match to the tanner's. But, it might at least buy them enough time to find out what he'd done with Clay... though she feared the worst, she had to know for sure. Just as soon as she felt able to move again, she would.

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Last edited by Rillewen on Wed Mar 06, 2024 6:46 am, edited 1 time in total.
"I don't know half of you half as well as I should like, and I like less than half of you half as well as you deserve."

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Aislin
Woods near Witchwood Cottage

@Ercassie , @Rillewen

"Oh, we would have been quite far by now..." Aislin found herself grumbling under her breath, as she struggled to understand Brooke's unwillingness to make use of the provided opportunity. Besides, she also looked wet as if the big man had used her to wash the floors with, which might just as well be true judging by the sounds that had come from the cottage when she and Clay had spied on it.

"Oh bother," she said again, when her friend set about making trails and masking trails, and... Aislin simply stood and watched for a while unsure how she could be of any help. She figured speedy running off would still have been a better option. With a helpless roll of her eyes she decided that there was not much else to do but to stick with whatever the other girl was doing, as it might be safer for them to stick together, and arguing would only waste more time.

It was true though; she had not thought about the fact that Sully could catch up with Clay - and his injured foot. Somehow she had assumed that he'd make it away without much trouble. Silently she followed Brooke in the direction she was leading, when the burly tanner was returning to his abode.

As if that was all that she had done all of her young life, Aislin took refuge behind another tree near Brooke and all but stuck to it. Ever so cautiously she peered around the tree to see whether the man had gone off, or would he actually find their real footprints and come after them. Then she glanced at Brooke, wondering if they should make a mad dash away and join the small path Clay and Sully had already made into the snow.
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Brooke Willows
Somewhere in the Woods, going away from Witchwood Cottage

Brooke held her breath, feeling her heart pound in her chest, as she listened to the footsteps. She was very relieved to notice that Aislin had hidden as well. She only feared that the horrible man might actually hear her heart hammering, or possibly hear her teeth chattering as the lack of movement left her feeling even colder. Her dress, still wet from the frightful events inside the cabin, was clinging to her legs, cold as ice. Perhaps it was turning to ice. She wouldn't be surprised. The hem, certainly, had accumulated a layer of snow and ice, and she didn't care for that, although her legs were nearly past the point of feeling much. She knew this was not a good thing.

As she stood pressed against the tree, struggling to keep from breathing more than she absolutely had to. She feared he might hear her breathe, or see the puff of it in the air, and it would gave away her location. With her fingers, hurting from the cold, tucked under her armpits, Brooke listened as hard as she could to the sound of Sully's footsteps crunching in the snow. For a long moment, that and the sound of her heart pounding was all she could hear. Then, eventually, as Sully's steps began to fade away, Brooke's acute ears detected another sound, faint, and further off, and in the opposite direction, thankfully, from where Sully had gone.

Glancing over at Aislin, she listened for a moment, growing more and more concerned. It sounded like..moaning, or something like that, though she couldn't quite place it. "I hear s-something." She whispered, hesitating. "It...it c-could be Clay.." She wondered if Aislin heard it too. She glanced toward the clear path in the forest, marked out by both Clay's and Sully's footsteps, which showed exactly where they had gone, then looked off into the unmarked snow, toward the direction of..whatever it was. Could it be that Clay was lying somewhere, hurt and possibly dying, and they might find him more quickly if they followed their ears? Or could it be something else, possibly something dangerous... Brooke hesitated, trying to decide, worried. Would Aislin get further annoyed, if she pursued this mysterious sound, or would she go along? Brooke was very hopeful that they would continue to be friends, and really appreciated that the girl had risked her life to come and rescue Brooke..even going so far as to bring reinforcements. She didn't know, of course, that Clay had already been there, and assumed that Aislin had brought him along. She didn't want to annoy her, but she was worried and curious about this noise which she could only barely hear in the first place.

She couldn't stand there trying to decide all day, Brooke knew.. Sully might come back, sooner or later, and find them... or Clay might be out there in desperate need of help.. but if nothing else, they could freeze to death if they didn't get moving soon. She closed her eyes for a moment, hastily asking herself what her mother would do, and then she made up her mind. "I'm going to investigate..." She didn't ask Aislin to come, but left it up to her. She could come along with Brooke, or wait there, or go on and follow Clay's trail.. whichever she wanted to do. Convinced that she was most likely going to find Clay at the source of this strange sound, though, Brooke set off without further hesitation, trying her best not to slip and slide on the icy, snow-covered forest floor.

The sound of moaning continued, not steadily, but regular enough that she was able to follow it. Brooke tried to move quickly, fearing that she might be too late, if it did turn out that Clay were badly hurt and perhaps dying. Not that she'd really know what to do, but still... a sense of urgency pushed her to press on with all speed she was capable of, given the conditions, and her own. Gradually, the sound became less distant, until at last, the girl came around a cluster of trees and stopped in her tracks, staring in surprise at the sight that met her eyes. "Oh!" She gasped, brown eyes widening. A dog stood shivering against the side of a tree, his shaggy, red-brown coat matted and dirty. The snow around him was even dirtier, trampled into muddy slush, and then refrozen. At the sight of a person approaching, the dog paused in the middle of a pitiful howling 'moan' and his tail started to swing vaguely back and forth. It was most definitely not Clay, unless Sully had somehow transformed him. Brooke had heard tales of wizards doing such things, but she was fairly sure that Sully was no wizard.

"Oh.. you poor thing..." She frowned as she saw the dog tug at the end of a very short rope which bound him to the tree. That explained why it appeared that he had been there for a few days, at least, not leaving the immediate vicinity of the tree. Brooke took a few steps closer, cautious, feeling a sharp pang of sympathy for the poor dog as he tried to come to her, only to be stopped by the mercilessly short rope, and ended up coughing and gagging as it dug into his throat. It was tied in such a knot around his neck that the more he pulled, the more it tightened, she realized. "No...don't pull..here, let me j-just...help you." She took a few steps closer, unsure if the dog might be vicious... he looked bone-thin, probably starved for however many days. He was shivering as hard as Brooke, yet stood watching her with hope in his big brown eyes, whining and whimpering pitifully.

As she stepped closer, she paused and observed a few more things. There were several stones scattered near the base of the tree, and a couple of scuff-marks on the bark of the tree. Someone had thrown stones... at the dog, she guessed with a growing sense of anger. Nearby, just out of the dog's reach, was a thick slab of meat.. frozen, by now, but the sight of it must have been driving the creature nuts, being so close and yet unable to get to it. Brooke knew that feeling well, thanks to Claire. Her anger swelled further. She stopped short and stared at the chunk of meat, then stepped closer and reached to pick it up. She froze with her hand mere centimeters from the meat, and caught her breath as she realized there was something under it. Something metal. And sharp. Her heart raced once again as she pulled her hand away, horrified. "I th-thought only...one person.. c-could be so...h-horrible." She declared under her breath, disgusted as well as infuriated by the further depths of cruelty she had discovered here. She was sure it was that awful Mr Spruce, this near to his home. It was bad enough the way he had treated her, but this poor dog, too?

The dog whined, and she could almost imagine him begging to be released. "Hold on... I n-need to d-deal with this, f-first." She told him quietly. Glancing around, she located a hefty stick under the snow, and picked it up, despite her fingers burning with cold. Using it, she carefully worked to push the piece of meat away from where it was located. The moment she succeeded, the jaws of the horrific steel trap beneath it closed with a snap, biting the end of the stick in half effortlessly. Brooke jumped back, startled even though she had expected it, and let out a shaky breath. "There..." With that accomplished, the girl picked up the meat and cautiously held it out to the starving dog. "Let's just h-hope it isn't poisoned..."

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Last edited by Rillewen on Wed Mar 06, 2024 6:46 am, edited 1 time in total.
"I don't know half of you half as well as I should like, and I like less than half of you half as well as you deserve."

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Aislin
In the whereabouts of the Witchwood Cottage

@Rillewen , @Ercassie

It seemed that perhaps for a short while they would be safe - until that man found that he had been tricked and returned even more furious, of which she was sure. That would do no good at all... Aislin shifted slightly, unsure of what to do, and then looked up at Brooke who drew her attention to some sound. "Hmm?" Aislin tilted her head slightly, listening. It did seem that there was a faint sound, though she was not sure what exactly it was.

"I'll be nearby," the girl then said, when she saw that Brooke was intent on exploring the source of the sounds. It could be Clay; but then again - the footprints led somewhat off to the side - away from where she thought the sound came from. "On the trail..." If Brooke happened to find Clay, Aislin was sure that she would be informed, and she thought that it would not hurt to explore where the footprints led to, just in case. She would still not go too far away, in case help would be needed.

And then a thought came to her that perhaps this could be used to confuse Sully further; so she set off and ran this way and that for a bit to make sure that Brooke's footprints would not be clearly visible, and then she followed the trail that Clay and Sully had made, trying her best to fit her footsteps into those already left behind. Soon she gave up though, since she was forced to jump with each step - her stride was no match to that of the two guys.

"Clay!" she called quietly, having run some ways along the trail and stopping to listen in hopes of an answer. "Clay!"
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Brooke Willows with a random dog
Somewhere in the Woods, going away from Witchwood Cottage


With the dog thus occupied with the piece of meat, Brooke hoped she could now get him untied from the tree. Kneeling in the snow, she shivered as the wet, cold soaked through her dress onto her knees. She tried to ignore it the best she could, and tentatively stroked the dog's muddy, matted fur. "Let's g-get this off.." She murmured, trying to find the rope amid all the shaggy fur. At last, she found it buried, partially dug into the dog's neck. "Poor thing.." She bit her lip, unsure how to get the rope off without hurting him. But she figured it would probably feel a lot better to have it off than to have it digging into his skin, she decided.

She coughed a few times, frowning as she wondered how long she could actually stay out here in the cold. Brooke tried not to think of it as her fingers gently worked at a knot in the red-brown fur, and finally she could get to the knot in the rope binding the poor creature. Her frown deepened... it was the sort of knot that tightened the more one pulled at it. "Monster..." She whispered, feeling more and more upset by this. "He truly is, isn't he?" She asked. To her surprise, the dog turned and licked her face, quite unexpectedly. Startled, Brooke jolted back and tried, too late, to block the dog's tongue from her face, but he succeeded. His tail wagged vaguely, as if he were amused by her reaction. Wrinkling her nose a little, Brooke looked back at him. "Did you have to do that?" She wondered, then shrugged and focused on loosening the knot before it strangled the dog.

At last, she eased the rope off from around his head, and smiled faintly as she watched him run around in circles happily. "There you go," She stepped back, shaking her head a little as she watched him roll around in the snow, probably trying to soothe his sore neck. "Alright, s-so just... you know..t-try to.. watch out for t-traps.." She hesitated. "And um. You p-probably better g-go home... wherever that is." She told the dog, tucking her cold hands under her arms again. "I gotta g-get b-back to my f-friend, alright? So go.. home." She made a vague shooing motion and hoped that the dog would be alright on his own.

Turning back to retrace her steps, Brooke hoped that Aislin wasn't needing her help for anything. Also, she hoped that this hadn't delayed anything from rescuing Clay, if he needed rescuing. But, either way, at least the poor dog should be able to go back to wherever he came from and not die out there from Sully's horrible cruelty. She hurried through the snow, trying not to slip, and worrying that Sully might have caught on to her trick with the tracks by now, and might be coming after Aislin. Halfway back to where she had left Aislin, Brooke stopped and turned, frowning. "W-what are you d-doing?" She asked, shivering still, though not quite as much. "You should go home. Don't you have people? Go on." She encouraged, trying not to sound mean or scary... Eru knew the poor dog had probably had enough terror for his lifetime just from his unfortunate encounter with Sully.

The dog stopped in the snow, a few paces behind her, and wagged his tail, his head tilted to the side slightly as if puzzled.
"Um... you can't really come with me," She told him apologetically. "My s-stepmother, she'd n-never let me keep a dog... and I don't think I could hide you, so... you'd better go off to wherever you came from. Go on." The look of sadness in the dog's eyes nearly tore her heart out, but she hugged herself tighter as she watched his head and tail droop pathetically as he turned away. She bit her lip, trying to remind herself why she couldn't have a dog. Claire. That was the only one she really needed. Sighing, she turned back and continued on her way. She needed to find Aislin, quickly.

Upon arriving at the spot where she and Aislin had parted ways, Brooke paused and frowned in puzzlement at all the tracks all over the place, until she began to smile faintly, realizing what Aislin must have been doing. Smart. She nodded slightly to herself and focused on the tracks left by Clay and Sully, figuring Aislin would have ultimately followed those, and tried to hurry to catch up to her friend... unaware that she was still being followed, but at more of a distance than before.
Last edited by Rillewen on Wed Mar 06, 2024 6:53 am, edited 1 time in total.
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Aislin
Somewhere in the Woods near the Witchwood Cottage

@Rillewen , @Ercassie

Ever so carefully Aislin followed the trail of footprints until it seemed to come to a stop by what appeared to be a wall of thick underbrush. Perplexed she stared at the snow all around the footprints wondering what had happened here. When she looked back the way she had just come, it was clear that Clay's footprints only led this way - had that beast of the man carried him away somewhere? And yet when he had returned, he was alone. Confused, the girl looked back at the underbrush again more carefully; a few broken twigs did seem to suggest that either they had struggled here, or Clay had ran or fallen through.

"Clay?" she called again, unsure what else to do. She was unwilling to push into that natural hedge and tear up what clothing still covered her freezing body. She stood quietly and held her breath for a moment, hoping to hear him answer her call. What she heard first was the sound of light approaching footsteps, and she turned around to find Brooke approaching.

"Did you find anything?" she asked her friend anxiously. "I think something has happened here, and I don't know what to think of it. And..."

Aislin's voice trailed away, when she saw a dog in the distance behind Brooke. "What's that?" she pointed that way. "Is that the scary man's dog coming to track us down?"
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Brooke Willows with a random dog
Somewhere in the Woods, going away from Witchwood Cottage


Catching up to Aislin, at last, relief filled her heart to see that, as yet, Mr Spruce had not come back here in search of her. At least, he hadn't caught up to them yet, but he could very well be on his way by now. She desperately hoped he was still confused by the false trail she had left for him, but at the same time, she wasn't stupid enough to think a simple trick like that would delay him for long. It was only a matter of time before he figured out what she had done, and so she felt a growing sense of urgency to find Clay and get out of here. Aislin still had not found Clay, though, from the looks of it. What if the ogre had already killed him? But then, wouldn't they have found his body? She was about to reply to Aislin's comment when the other girl asked, "What's that?"

Turning in alarm, Brooke sighed in exasperation upon seeing that it was only the dog she had rescued. She shook her head, frowning at him. "I t-told you to g-go home," She called at the forlorn-looking canine. Glancing at her friend, she added, "No, um, I don't think he belongs to Mr Spruce," Her frown deepened. "I-I found him.. t-tied up, starving.. I think that h-horrible man had been throwing r-rocks at him..." Trying to keep her fingers from hurting so much, Brooke tucked them under her arms, shivering faintly as she looked back at the dog again. He had stopped, and begun wagging his tail slowly. He trotted forward a few steps, looking hopeful, then stopped again and looked from one girl to the other.

"G-Go on, you can't come home with me," Brooke told him again, then turned back to the more important matter. The dog would wander off sooner or later, surely. She was more concerned about Clay. "He must be somewhere nearby... he had to have come this way," Brooke tried to focus back on the mystery of the missing young man. She had very little skills of the forest, but it was obvious his tracks led this way.. Unless he'd pulled a similar trick to that which Brooke had done, but she had a feeling he had been in too much of a hurry to try anything like that. "His tracks just sort of..vanish, don't they?" She frowned, trying to make sense of this. Worry tugged at her mind, baffled by the abrupt halt to his tracks...what could've happened to him? "Do you think... he might have..you know... k-killed him?" She whispered nervously, glancing at the wall of seemingly impenetrable bushes. Perhaps he had grabbed the young man up off the ground and thrown him off somewhere? That would explain the absence of further tracks.

Crouching down, trying her best to ignore her nearly-numb fingers and toes, Brooke tried to learn something, anything, about the tracks. Seconds later, she yelped softly in surprise as the dog bounded up to her enthusiastically and leaped onto her, as if he thought she had beckoned him. Collapsing in the snow, Brooke tensed and flung her arms up to shield her face, alarmed by what seemed, for a moment, like an attack. Until she realized the dog was merely trying to lick her face. Letting out a shaky breath, she struggled to push him off of her. "Ugh, no, stop it.." As if she wasn't cold enough already... falling down in the snow didn't help matters at all. At last, he finally backed off, distracted by something else. Brooke, trying to get up from the cold ground, watched the dog begin to wander around with his nose to the ground, investigating the tracks in the snow. And moments later, he was crawling under thick bushes and soon was out of sight. The dog had obviously found something of interest, though she couldn't say if he was following Clay's tracks, or some random squirrel

Trying to brush the clinging snow from her dress, Brooke soon gave up and tucked her cold hands back under her arms. The spot where her dress had gotten wet, back in the cabin, was trying to freeze, and it was very uncomfortable, and the snow was sticking to it, forming a thicker layer of ice. She tried to forget about it, reminding herself she could warm up later. It was hard to think, being so cold and uncomfortable, but she closed her eyes briefly and tried, very hard, to focus. "M-Mr Spruce was.. ch-chasing him..." She remembered, more to herself than to Aislin. "Where are his tracks? Where do they lead?" Opening her eyes, she glanced around. If Sully had pursued the cobbler's son beyond this point, his trail should be clear enough, she reasoned, and obviously he hadn't followed the exact path which Clay had taken. Sully was a big man, and Brooke wouldn't be surprised if he cleared a path to his quarry with naught but his bare hands.

Locating a place where Sully had apparently plowed his way through the underbrush, Brooke glanced at Aislin, and pointed it out to her friend. "I... I guess we should try this way." Still, she hesitated. What sort of terror awaited them at the end of that path? She forced herself to take a deep breath, though the frigid air burned her airways. Don't think about it, she told herself, trying to think of what the heroic characters in her books would do. Taking another deep breath, she plunged onward down the path without letting herself think too hard about it. They could be trapping themselves, for all she knew... perhaps Sully had knocked Clay unconscious or tied him up, then went to try and catch the girls, and was now on his way back to finish Clay off. Perhaps this path would double back and take them right back into his clutches. Her imagination began to run wild with all sorts of highly possible things that might happen to them, or which may have happened to Clay. It took everything she had to keep going, and not panic every time a branch or string of briers snagged at her hair or clothes.

More than anything, she wanted to just go back home to her room and curl up with one of her books, but she couldn't do that while there was a chance she might be able to help Clay... who had risked his life to rescue her. She still didn't quite understand that. The pathway, despite the briers, and the thin branches that tried to slap at her face, was just broad enough to allow the two slim girls to follow along the path taken by Mr Spruce. Before long, she came stumbling out of what felt like a tunnel of snatching, clinging underbrush. There stood a large tree ahead of them, with sprawling roots that stretched out in all directions upon the ground, visible even with the layer of snow over everything. A large boulder had clearly been moved recently, covering a gap between two roots. The dog was sniffing around the base of the boulder, the hairs on his back all standing up. Sully's tracks were all around, proof of who had put the boulder there. Brooke's heart sank as she took in this sight. "Oh, no!" She gasped, hurrying forward, tugging in vain at the giant rock. It was too heavy, and her fingers were too cold. "C-Clay?" She called, hardly daring to raise her voice too loud, lest they be overheard. It seemed obvious he must be under there... but was he dead, or merely trapped alive?
Last edited by Rillewen on Wed Mar 06, 2024 6:53 am, edited 1 time in total.
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Aislin
In the woods in the vicinity of Witchwood Cottage

@Rillewen , @Ercassie

"I think the dog must have chosen to follow you from now on," Aislin remarked, observing that the poor animal seemed to be happy for being free and had no intentions of leaving Brooke. Or perhaps they would have to look for the dog's home after they had found Clay? If they managed to find him, that is; though she did not know what they would find if they did and how they could help. And if that horrid man did not find them first and hang them up like those pieces of meat around his house...

Aislin found herself shaking, but it seemed more because she was scared rather than cold, though she was still freezing as well. Not seeing any other tracks to follow, the girl hastened after Brooke, trying not to lose to the bushes what clothing still covered her thin frame.

Coming to a stop by her friend, she watched the dog sniffing around the large rock. "I don't know. Would both of us together be able to move it?" she wondered, and then knelt down to join the dog in exploration of the obstacle. A thought of digging under it to assist in rolling it away entered her mind, and she scratched at the snow and the frozen ground to see if anything could be done. All she managed to do was to move only some dirt from the very surface with her cold fingers.

"What do we do?" she glanced back up at Brooke, "And if he is there, why doesn't he answer?" Because he is dead - the thought came to her mind, but she did not want to allow it to settle.
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Brooke Willows with a random dog
Somewhere in the Woods, going away from Witchwood Cottage


Brooke didn't want to think too hard about why Clay wasn't answering. She had a fearful worry about the possible reason, but she couldn't simply give up. "L-Let's try pushing together?" She agreed with Aislin's suggestion. Maybe with both of them working together, it might move. Though, she really thought it looked a little bit immovable. She frowned slightly at Aislin's comment about the dog, glancing at him as he wandered around the area, nose to the ground. Something had grabbed his interest, but she had no idea what that might be. "My stepmother would never let me keep a dog," She frowned, not even sure how she felt about the idea of a dog. She'd never really considered trying to keep a pet of any sort. How would she even take care of a dog? He was better off going back wherever he was before Sully caught him.

Neither Aislin nor the dog seemed to have much luck at digging. Brooke considered whether her knife might be of some help, but the ground looked a bit frozen, and she didn't know.. it couldn't hurt anything to try though, right? Digging the blade out from her bag, she knelt down, trying to loosen up the dirt a little. Her fingers hurt, but she kept attacking the hard, frozen ground... until the knife struck against the stone, and chipped a piece off of the blade. Dismayed, Brooke held up the knife which had belonged to her grandfather, a ranger who died before she was born. Her shoulders slumped, realizing this plan was not really going to work. She put the knife, and the broken piece, back in the sheath and stood up again, frowning, feeling desperate to think of another plan.

Rubbing her hands together as she breathed on them, she found it rather useless trying to thaw her numb fingers. Instead, she placed them against the boulder and pushed as hard as she could. Rather than the boulder giving way, her shoes did. Brooke barely caught herself before she collapsed into a heap on the ground, sighing as she glanced around. "Wait, maybe..." she had an idea, spotting a thick tree limb lying nearby, broken off from the tree. She snatched it up, smiling as a glimmer of hope flared up inside her. "With the right leverage, maybe we can move it!" Jamming the thicker end of the stick against the place where the boulder met with the tree trunk, Brooke tried to wedge it in firmly, and braced her feet against some jutting-out roots as she pushed and pulled on her lever, trying different angles to see which might have some success, straining a bit with the effort of trying to move the boulder.


The dog paused in his sniffing and tilted his head, as if puzzled by Brooke and Aislin. After a moment, he put his nose back to the ground and began sniffing around the roots of the tree, roaming further and further away from the boulder. His nose led him over roots, under scraggly bushes that pulled at his matted fur, and finally... to a hole. A red-brown snout pushed down into this hole, sniffing eagerly. The next moment, he sat back and howled to draw the girls' attention before muddy paws began digging eagerly to widen the hole.


With a sharp crack, the branch snapped as Brooke leaned on it with all her strength, sending her sprawling. Again. She let out a surprised yelp as she did, and cringed at the painful landing. Not only did she hurt from falling on these hard roots, but her idea didn't work. She'd failed... as usual. Nothing she ever did seemed to work, she thought regretfully, with a sinking feeling. It was one thing to fail in matters dealing with her own life, but with someone else's at stake, she couldn't fail. She just couldn't... but she didn't know what to do. Slowly getting up, she frowned, trying again to push at it with her bare hands, almost desperate. "It..won't... move!" She slumped against it, fighting tears. "What now?" She took a shaky breath, then looked around as she heard... was that a howl? or maybe it was a bear growling nearby... but the dog seemed a little more logical. He wasn't still nearby. "W-where'd the dog go?" She hesitated, unsure if they ought to look for the dog or keep trying to move the boulder.
Last edited by Rillewen on Wed Mar 06, 2024 6:54 am, edited 1 time in total.
"I don't know half of you half as well as I should like, and I like less than half of you half as well as you deserve."

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Aislin
In the woods in the vicinity of Witchwood Cottage

@Rillewen , @Ercassie

Aislin stood about nervously, quite unsure how she could help Brooke in her endevours, knelt for a while a bit out of the way should the rock suddenly roll off, and then stood yet again with a sigh.

"But there should be a way. No?" she asked hopefully, though it was apparent that they would not be able to move the rock, even with their strengths combined. And the earth was too frozen to be used as assistance. Running her cold fingers through her hair, the girl looked at the offending rock with a pout, when the howl reached them.

"The dog... I don't know. He was right here a moment ago," Aislin said, as she looked around, and her eyes followed the footprints the dog had left. One trail was leading off to the side, and the girl decided to investigate. Cautiously she followed the trail, snatching up a twig which she thought of using as means of swatting at any evil people should such attack her. "The dog's right here!" she called after a while, when she had spotted him digging around some sort of a hole. "Come, take a look, Brooke!"
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Bryony Spruce
Flashback - the Murder of Dorian Bay

Witchwood Cottage, Archet - 1 year ago


They came when the sun had abandoned it’s watchpost, slithering inside the woman’s ear and kicking up the corners of thoughts. Like whineful hounds or colicky infants, they spewed just enough sound to keep her from rest. Doubt, fear and suspicion they were named, and Bryony had had her fill of them. Whisky had effectively played it’s part for a short time in chasing away the skitter of annoyance. But the bear of a man beside her was not one to be without and, noting his new bride had grown a tendency to down his favoured elixir, he’d necked the entire contents this time, before she found a sip of it. The only consolation Sully now provided was the sawing shudder of his snores. The sound did not drown out the woman’s worries, but at least convinced her that he would not witness what she had to do; the only thing she could now do.

The moon was hung like a dinner plate in the night sky, throwing off all the sorts of light which might be her undoing, should there chance along any witness. But for all the peril of being observed, Bryony gave thanks that she could see where she was going. It was ghastly enough an errand without having to trip and grope in shadows to find her intended destination.

The grisly globe had worn it’s face still when she kicked it with disdain through mud and leaf-litter. It mattered little what state it might end in by the time she’d taken it far enough from her home. There were some things even she was too canny to keep under her roof. And she had been raised in that cottage, in this wood. She knew all the places which her husband had yet to discover. She was far enough come from her home not to know if he was yet asleep, for even a hibernating bear’s snore would not carry such a distance. But he would not hear the rustle of autumnal scraps that fractured to powder beneath her wrapped feet. Neither would he hear the chatter of her teeth as a thin shawl failed to make it’s embrace worth it’s while. And he would not be able to see from such a distance just which tree she knew had a scrawl of thick roots about it. Roots which hid a pitfall she had dropped things into before now.


As a child, Bryony Witchwood had left her superstitious tributes to the gods of the forest. The fates had never answered her pleas, and the cost she had paid was lost. Scrawny arms had cast wide and desperate into the dark eye in the earth, to try and retrieve regrets, until she slipped once and feared the tree might swallow her on up. She had heard such stories after all. When she was still a child, she might even have believed them. As an adult, Bryony now Spruce had learnt that the most dreadful things are not what folks tales may swell up in imagination. They were real, solid, and impossible to dispose of through all the tried and tested methods thus far.

The rest of the bones had served some purpose and could never now betray her of their origins. Spoons, knife handles, various tools which Sully had manipulated the late landlord’s remains into every altered size and shape. It was better not to disclose quite how they had disposed of the skin, the blood, the rest .... she was practical at need and her husband unfazed by necessity. But the decapitated head, the skull .. there was no easy hiding or having away with that and, for all their recent matrimony, she did not trust that her husband would not use this keepsake of her crime for exploitation at some stage. So here would have to be it’s home. For her arms were not quite so scrawny now, and her husband’s broader by some huge degree. It had taken some manouvreing to work the foul thing into the begrudging burrow at all. She was forced to lay leaves, smooth the scratch and scuff marks to disguise its ever having been there. Now if she were fortunate, some nasty thing that crawled under the snake’s nest of tree roots, would work it’s unseen ways to good effect and eat away the only lingering trace of murder.


At any rate, she never imagined that anyone would now unearth the head of Dorian Bay; the last vestige that remained of the unfortunate Breeman. And certainly she never expected that the other deepest secret she had long thought buried would be the tool to exhume the other.
All that is gold does not glitter, not all those who wander are lost
The old that is strong does not wither, deep roots are not touched by the frost.

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Clayton ‘Clay’ Dogwood, underneath a tree, not far from Witchwood Cottage
near Brooke and Aislin and the dog (and Dorian Bay’s skull).
@Rillewen @Pele Alarion


Breath escaped him in small vomits of shock. Despite the blanket of darkness, Clay could see these small snatches of warm air billowing away from his mouth, clearly having decided they might as well forsake him. He was doing nothing to help himself after all, and might have been already frozen to death by the frigid climes rather than just stunned into suspense. It was hard for the Breeman to shake himself into action though, as he lay sprawled but inches from the skull. As the cold stealthily subdued him, brown eyes fixed upon the eerie halo from above, illuminating the macabre find which seemed, against all reason, to be calling to him. But there were a few things which did not fit about that fact, more than a few things ! For the first, if this was the remains of Dorian Bay, why did the ghostly summons which screamed like a distant wind sound far more shrill to his ears, than even a ghost of the kindly landlord ought to ? That .. could not be real. And secondly, if this truly was all that remained of his fiancee’s missing grandfather, then where by all that was holy was the rest of him ?

As though summoned then by a plague of Clay’s worst imaginings, the paltry light which had shone down from above him, was abruptly extinguished. A rainfall of dust sprinkled down from the earthen rook of his hole, like a sprinkle of tiny stars to choke him. And then the low roar thundered in it’s wake. What chance thoughts the young man had batted away before, of quite what beast might have made this hole in the first place (besides Mr Spruce of course) now returned with a vengeance. There was scratching, clawing, from aloft and it sounded desperate, hungry.

On instinct, Clay pulled away from the sound, deliberated just a moment on whether to grasp the skull, as it was not only the evidence he’d long thought he would want to find, but it might also, despairingly, be the only sort of weapon he had now to protect himself. As the yowling bellow filled the under-tree chamber, the acoustics fed it’s horror so that it seemed to be coming from all directions at once. This made small difference, because there was nowhere to go really. The small, root-framed day-hole which he had hoped to make for was now robbed of his options. There was nowhere else but back down the tighter tunnel where he had first entered. No way out at it’s end of course, the tanner had seen to that. But it was a squeeze enough on both sides, the roof flatter and closer, so perhaps he could scramble back there, backwards, drag the skull behind him and use it as some scanty barricade between him and … whatever that was that was so determined to meet him.

I am not afraid of you,” he called out, more to convince himself than the ‘thing’. Upon reflection, this was a bad move though, to assure the thing that there was in fact some prize to be seized below. Snuffling and increased scratching suggested that ‘it’ could sniff his scent out either way. With a deep breath, Clay knew that he had no choice. “You can not have him,” he decided, easing two fingers of one hand through the vacant eyeholes to take hold. Wriggling backward, his shirt curled up and under him, exposing his bare belly to the cold and the dirt that sanded against his every inch taken. But he barely felt it. Legs propelled him in a chaotic back scramble, one arm lagging behind to haul his grisly treasure along. “Go away !” he muttered, defiantly to the darkness, only half aware by now that his injured foot had slowly ceased to throb and had, for all he knew, been quietly chewed off by the shadows which surrounded him.
All that is gold does not glitter, not all those who wander are lost
The old that is strong does not wither, deep roots are not touched by the frost.

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@Pele Alarion@Ercassie


Brooke Willows with a random dog
Somewhere in the Woods


"Come, take a look, Brooke!"

Glancing up, Brooke abandoned her attempts at digging at the ground. It was useless, and she would only cause more damage to her knife, her hands, or whatever else she tried to use. She scrambled over the roots of the tree the best she could, trying not to stumble. "Wha-" She started to ask, but then as she came around to the other side, she stopped and frowned in confusion to see the dog eagerly digging at the ground at the base of the tree. Watching for a moment, she slowly ventured closer, and finally knelt beside the dog. "What is it?"

That hole must have been there before the dog arrived, but he was making it bigger by the moment. "Look, Aislin," She called. "I think it goes really deep..." At that moment, a voice echoed faintly from within.
"I am not afraid of you.."


Brooke had not really properly met Clay before, but she knew that to be his voice. She'd passed him in the streets before, and had heard him and his friends talking or laughing together, seen him playing with them, and other various occasions. She was about as familiar with him as she was the majority of people around this area, yet didn't personally know any of them. "That's Clay," She told Aislin with relief, just about the time he was calling out for them to go away. Brooke paused, glancing at the dog, as he pushed his head into the hole and seemed to be trying to crawl in there, though it was still too tight for him. "No.. uh, doggy," She tried to pull him back, trying to think. Trying to put herself in Clay's position.. having fled from that horrible Mr Spruce, having to crawl into this dark hole... she'd be terrified in his place.He must be frightened, too. He probably didn't realize they were there to try and help him, that they were not Sully or anyone associated with him.

Pulling the dog further back, Brooke waited a moment to let the silence maybe calm any fears the young man might have, then leaned a little closer to the opening. "Clay Dogwood?" She called into the hole. "It's alright, we're here to help you. And Mr. Spruce is gone now." She tried to sound reassuring, though in the back of her mind, she couldn't help worrying that he might return any moment. She hoped, perhaps, that he would be confused by her false trail and would take a while to figure it out, but she also didn't really believe it would take him that long to figure out what they did. She glanced briefly at Aislin, then back down at the dark opening. It smelled musty, and she shuddered slightly to think of how horrifying it would be to be trapped down there. "We..we're going to dig some more at this hole, to make it bigger, you know?" She thought the hole might not be big enough yet.

She paused, waiting with her breath held, holding the dog back with one hand. "Umm, we'd best hurry up," She muttered, more to Aislin. "I'm afraid he might come back." Casting a nervous glance around, she paused for a moment to listen for any footsteps, but thankfully didn't hear any. Using the broken-off knife that was still in her hand, she began trying to loosen some of the soil, letting the dog get back to work again. "Here, Aislin, I think I worked a stone loose, maybe you can help dig with it?" She suggested, holding up a stone that was big enough to be held as a tool of sorts, with one edge that might work as a sort of spade type thing.
Last edited by Rillewen on Wed Mar 06, 2024 6:53 am, edited 1 time in total.
"I don't know half of you half as well as I should like, and I like less than half of you half as well as you deserve."

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@Ercassie , @Rillewen
Aislin
In the Woods


"So... Does that hole go down or sideways under the roots or something?" Aislin sought to clarify, as she squatted next to Brooke and reached out to scratch the dog behind the ears. "Is it somehow connected to where that big rock is?"

Being a bit further away from the hole, the girl could barely make out Clay's words, but she definitely recognised the voice as his. "Yes. Clay," she agreed almost in whisper, leaning closer to the hole, while Brooke called into it to tell Clay that he should not be afraid of them.

The reminder of Mr. Spruce made Aislin frown though, and she stood up straight and then on her tiptoes, looking around as best she could to see if the nasty man was not coming to get them already. She did not like the idea that he would, but it was very much likely because they had apparently made him mad, and he would want to find them and make sure to have his revenge. Luckily she did not see him, and everything else seemed quiet in the forest.

"I can try..." She then left her watchful looking around to get down on her knees next to the hole. Having inspected the stone Brooke had handed to her, she chose the best angle to work with and set about trying to dig out the hard ground as fast as her freezing hands would permit.
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’Gwandhyra Harion’
approaching the Witchwood Cottage Tree, Archet Woods, in Winter
with Brooke Willows and Aislin

The season had laid out her frosted nets, but the Man refused to let himself be snagged up in that grasp of frigid cold. There was more to lead him deep into the wood than to keep him from daring upon such an errand, and so the trek continued. It was beautiful, in it’s way. A bark, he heard. A dog, Seri had said that she owned. He must be close now, he reasoned, although he was no closer to coming up with any good excuse to have ‘stopped by’. Save for the obvious. And yet when he saw as well as heard, it was not the dog which he had expected, but rather part of a scene he had very much NOT expected. None of them seemed to notice the Ranger approaching straight away, for even the animal, with snout down in the dirt and tree roots, was intently busy digging, hunting, finding ..

Gwandhyra dropped into a stoop, resting on the balls of both feet while the dog first raised his nose, then charged, and finally tried to have him right offbalance and onto his back where they might have some real fun.


Most people cut down the tree, you know,” he remarked, recovering himself from being licked to death, for the sake of the two young girls who were on hand. “That’s one ambitious dog you have, to try and dig it up from the roots.” He could not help but note, and also ponder. For they had not had a dog with them when he had last seen them. Was it their dog ? And what would have them out here in such climes, dog or otherwise ?

Would you like me to help you find a more suitable stick to throw for him, ladies ?Gwandhyra asked, amused to have come across the same, albeit more shivering young pair twice in the same day. Rather disappointed though, that the strange state of affairs might see him walking them back safely to their home than seek out a warm hearth that was more likely to welcome him.
All that is gold does not glitter, not all those who wander are lost
The old that is strong does not wither, deep roots are not touched by the frost.

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