Marlo's Nathaniel Directed Journey

By the dawn of the third day, Marlo's rations for both herself and her horse were waining thin. The dark-haired steed was suffering from obvious fatigue from the combination of a restless rider and one without adequate preparations for the trip. Marlo had not taken much in form of rations. This was due to the coupled rush and fact that she'd never ridden a horse so hard before. The hobbit didn't know to expect such a negative reaction on their food supplies.

Needless to say, a tired animal was a hungry one and Marlo had gotten herself into this purely through her poor planning. Allowing the steed to slow his pace as she returned to study of the map for any upcoming village outcroppings, the horse seemed to find one before Marlo could. Trotting towards it, the pair neared a bonfire and some buildings. It wasn't odd to have the flames or gatherings of people warming themselves in the cold weather, but what was out of place was what appeared to be the burning a black gelatinous material. While Marlo's curiosity would have once insisted she investigate, the healer was too wiped to do much even if she knew more about this peculiar blaze.

Once she had approached the well rusted gates the town, the Marlo reluctantly submitted to the need for the detour. It wasn't on Nathaniel's map, but she was far from picky right now so long as they could provide some sort of food there. A place the horse and her could bathe would also be welcome of course. The poor thing could use a break. Even in her wish to move quickly to Wulfric's aid she didn't want to ride the horse to his collapse. The horse was a living being too after all, not just a mode of transportation.

Marlo gave the horse an affectionate scratch behind the ears in her appreciation of the still nameless steed. In her own defence, a close childhood friend had insisting on calling animals by names like "cat" and "goat" and occasionally "you little piece of shit". It had become a force of habit to either leave animals nameless or wait for her loud friend to name them after their less than flattering (but always amusing) attributes. Crista had once called a bird "droppings-on-my-house" so many times that it had replaced the raven's actual name. Brutus? Brandon? No one quite remembered what it was once called, but when people had come to the village in visits or in passing, they had always been surprised at the calls of "droppings on my house brings news from the East!"

A small smile had taken up Marlo's features at remembrance of the trouble maker's loudmouth. Crista had been a real gem. No. She is a real gem. In time, she'd be back to her antics and would promptly be re-naming all of the animals in Wildgard. Curing her village could wait though. There were other things to worry about for the time being. For now, food and rest for the horse came first. Then finding Wulfric.

Shaking her head to clear her mind, the hobbit took in a deep breath to regain her focus. Upon closer inspection of their surroundings, she noted the towns massive oaks that lined it's perimeters. The trees surrounding it had firm, if not dry, limbs shooting up to the sky like children raising their hands in dance. All the same, when Marlo drew nearer she could see that all of which were also covered in a strange series of a flaky ashen substance and scorch marks. From her time at Wildgard, Marlo knew that it was sometimes better not to ask. Besides, she didn't want to spend more time in this village than was absolutely necessary.

The smell of freshly cut saplings and grass wafted through the town, lightening the otherwise gloomy decor. The few residents that she could see however, were carrying themselves with their shoulders hunched and wore the eyes of someone newly returned from a war. It was a stark difference and only served to highlight the cold weather and somber mood further. When she pair drew closer, the smell of smoke washed over the scent of the otherwise misplaced plant life. She curiously took regarded how a large series of vines were repeatedly thrown to the embers.

This too was another question that the hobbit didn't have time to ponder. It had taken their most gifted farmers from her village to grow at this time of year and yet they seemed to be burning a good deal of what they were reaping in this town. Something was clearly off about this village and the combination of a continuous stream of worries, wish to leave post haste, and exhaustion largely kept Marlo from wondering just what exactly was wrong here. For the most part, she was too out of it to even notice. Memories like that of Crista and Wulfric could only liven her so much before they just made her sad.

Entering the first produce store that the healer happened upon, Marlo regarded the selection hungrily. A faded yellow banner that had grown illegible over time hung outside its entrance as an advertisement. The building itself was paint stripped and had been reacquainted with a brush so many times that a small rainbow of chipped colours was scattered throughout the outer wooden walls. An outcropping of similar weeds to that found in the bonfire had settled comfortably along a windowsill and the wall itself. They were winding up towards the sun like chicks reaching for their mother come meal time. The reminder that plants, even if they were weeds, could flourish nearing the winter months was a surprising sight for sore eyes. The exact vibrancy of the green found in the weed also failed to set off any warning signs.

In her prompt departure from Wildgard Marlo had only brought a few meagre coins, though in her defence the towns she had been to in the past had never had problem with loaning shelter in exchange for this amount. These had always been more than enough for a temporary bed and a meal or two and she was needing was produce. Placing some of the less-likely to spoil items (, and some carrots for the horse that seemed good natured enough to put up with her antics thus far,) in a fraying wicker basket acquired from the front of the shop, Marlo moved towards the store's owner.

He was an older man with frail bones and less than frail eyebrows. His beard was just as bushy as his brow line and was steeped through with more grey than black. Matching freckles that befell Marlo for her own time working the gardens and the fields back home littered his pale cheeks. His clothing was simple if not covered in soot and he stood with a heavy favour to his right side.

The elderly store owner wore the same eyes as the other few townsfolk Marlo had encountered thus far, but his eyes seemed to brighten at the potential for a new sale. Placing the goods on the counter along with some of her change, Marlo curiously observed the man picking through the items she had selected. Shifting from foot to foot and bouncing on the balls of her feet in her tension to resume her journey, Marlo raised an eyebrow when the man handed her a carrot from over the counter. "Y'have a nice day then Miss," he prompted, which bore the realization that he would be selling her only a carrot for the money she had given him.

Frowning, Marlo cocked her head to the side and scrunched up her eyebrows in clear confusion. "Pardon me, but are you saying this will only get me... a single carrot..?" She asked, utterly incredulous. At any other time she would have gladly argued for a reduction from such a ridiculous price, but at the nod of his head she just submitted the rest of her coins. Wulfric was still in danger and there wasn't the time to waste in scouting out other stores or trying to argue with a crazy man for a lower price. She didn't mind spending the money if it would get her out of her faster.

"And for this?" Marlo asked, extending her pouch with an obviously irritated pursing of her lips. She was somewhat skeptical of this old man now and when he handed her back two beans, she could feel her impatience only grow.

Picking up on the fact that Marlo was two seconds from leaving his store empty-handed, he held up a hand to stop her. "Now, y'look like a nice girl. How's about you trade me for that there button and we call it even, eh?" The hobbit's face fell at the thought of relinquishing her mother's pin, but her stomach grumbled pointedly and Marlo reluctantly removed the clasp. Her hands moved slower than they usually did, fumbling over the clip to her hood in her reluctance and she looked at the ground when she at last handed it over.

Guilt plagued her when she placed the brooch on the table and she set her gaze when she again looked up to regard the smile on the grocer's tired face. "If you can give me directions to a body of water not far from here, you can have yourself a deal," she mumbled. Wether she and the horse needed the food or not, she was still unhappy to give away something that had once belonged to her family.

The button had been a gift from her Grandfather to her Grandmother during the first Feast of the Three Sisters that the two had attended as a couple. Stories of her always sarcastic Grandmother telling the humorous man that she'd only dance with him if he promised to dance with her again rung through her head once more. It had been a hard year on the village due to the drought and when it had rained, her Grandmother had remarked repeatedly, they had moved the festival to fall early in celebration of the uplifted crops.

The pin had been passed down to her Mother in time, in congratulations of her first successful harvest when she was thirteen. Marlo's Mother had continued the tradition when Marlo had succeeded only two years later than her Mother had done as a girl. The trinket was a mark of pride and her family history. It marked when she had become a useful member of her village. It was a reminder of her Grandmother's laughter and the love she had felt for her Grandfather. The pin, though it was just a pin, was worn in her admiration to her Mother, for accomplishing a goal in her Mother's footsteps.

Letting out a sigh at how long the hobbit was taking to let the brooch leave her hands, the shop keeper coughed to signal his impatience. When Marlo finally did relinquish the button, she blinked rapidly and wiped at her eyes in order to properly see where on the map the shop keeper would direct her to.

The elderly grocer gestured to the parchment in Marlo's hands and she lent it to him for her directions. The man was clearly satisfied by the exchange as he allowed his posture to loosen and he eagerly reached for Marlo's map. "There's a few places not t'far from 'ere," he began, wanting to upkeep his end of the deal properly by giving useful directions. "Which direction are ya headin' in?"

Things turned strange once more though when Marlo pointed to the place on the map. The grocer's entire posture changed and his gaze hardened. "I'll take yer bobbin but y'll be not coming back here," he said, slitting his eyes in a drastic change from the tired yet relaxed man just moments prior. "I don't wanna see you back again if yer goin' there," the old man said, tone grim.

Blinking dumbly at the clerk for a moment, Marlo had to take a step back. "I don't understand, what's the problem?"

The shop owner simply shook his head and pointed to a place on the map. "Here's where ya'can get some water. Best of luck t'ya." Handing over the entirety of her food selection, the man scowled at her. At her questioning gaze he shrugged and gave her a tight lipped smile. "Best of luck t'ya. Now get outta my store. I don't need no trouble."

They quickly delved into a range of questions from the healer and a string of "I aint going there's" from the grocer. The hobbit tried him for more information and also tried to relinquish a proper explanation, but after a few minutes of failed attempts she finally relented and turned to leave the shop. "What do I call ya'?" The man asked, stopping her departure.

"Marlo Greenthumb," she answered, turning back and studying this strange man quizzically. "And you?" She prompted, stance hesitant to return. Thankfully or not, the owner didn't seem to keen on inviting her back inside anyways.

"Ya' don't need my name where yer going," he said, shaking his head like the healer had gone mad. His face scrunched up as if having eaten a particularly off batch of apples and he clenched his jaw before turning away to pack up the money and Marlo's clasp.

Marlo may have often been naive in her interactions with people, but even she did not try to question the stiff shop-owner further when she left. Climbing back atop her horse, the hobbit fed him a few of the carrots before riding out of the village.

Her coat hung loosely and continuously slid off her shoulders. By nightfall she had packed it away in her bag, but not before idly tracing the holes left behind by the pin she had once owned.