Little Red Riding Hood

[Seh'nara Celebrindal]

The stars above the campfire shone brightly. Seh'nara lay on her thin bedroll, listening to the sounds of the night. Crickets chirping, night owls hooting, the soft swish of the wind as it flew through the tips of the long grass surrounding them; they all brought a smile to her face. The ranger liked nothing more than just breathing in the life around her. Her companion, however, was restless. "Seh. Seh. Seh. I don't know why I allowed you to bring me out here in the middle of the night." Ainsel Bramel, her longtime friend, sat across the fire from Seh'nara. The lass was clearly bored; she was picking at the dirt at her feet and flicking it away. Every few seconds, she would heave a large sigh. "You promised me adventures of an epic scale. You promised me love, life, loss, you promised me-"

"Myth. I promised you myth."

"Myth."

"Myth. Don't give me that look, Ainsel. I know you like your stories."

"Seh. I've heard a lot. I've heard tales of princes rescuing princesses. I've heard of wars fought in hell, and weddings in heaven, I've heard of tales of Injera crashing to the ground and razing everything to nothing. What could you possibly tell me that could top that?"

"I don't need to top anything, Ainsel. I just need to tell you something you haven't heard yet." The elfess sat up, crossing her legs and threw a mischievous grin to her friend. It didn't matter if she wasn't delivering the epic Ainsel wanted. Her friend thirsted for stories; thrived on them, and she would be intrigued as soon as Seh'nara started.

"Once upon a time, there was a child... "

[Ras]

He's known for the long red coat he wears. The coat is almost as long as the child is tall. Mithiras, or Ras for short, would be glimpsed as nothing but a flash of red by the servants in his father's stables, the boy too quick and too cunning to be caught by curious eyes.

The days of running around his father's stables are gone. He's on his own now, living on the streets in the city of Milkengrad. He eats whatever scraps he can find. The red coat given to him by his father? It's stained, dirty, grubby, the color fading. The boy beneath fares little better.

Night bleeds into day. Puddles of darkness linger as long shadows in the city's narrow alleyways. He lies cradled against a wall, the brick weathered and worn smooth like an old man's leathery face. The red coat he wears serves as his only bedding as the boy begins to stir.

Ras is groggy at first and stands slowly, one red sleeved arm lifted to rub at his eyes. He's yawning and looking down the alleyway. He's reminded of his hunger as his stomach churns. The oversized coat does little to conceal the gaunt frame beneath it. People occasionally take pity on the child and feed him, but it's rare for them to care.

He starts to walk down the alleyway, one hand trailing along the worn, often cracked walls. He stops short, his gaze downward cast toward one crevice in particular, the gleam of metal captivating him. He's grinning in an instant and reaching toward that small hidey-hole. He pulls a ring from it and rubs small fingers along this shiny wonder before abruptly stuffing it into his coat's pocket, that pocket bulging already with other things the boy's found.

[Seh'nara Celebrindal]

Trabis saw a flash of dirty red scuttle past him. His tired eyes looked up. Little beggars, little kids, little nothings, he thought, without ire. There were too many children on the streets, too many rag-and-bone beggars no older than ten, and the rascal that strolled past him was no different. The boy's hunched back spoke tales that the child would never speak.

It was late, midnight, almost. He remembered vaguely the toll of the bells from the city crier an hour or so ago; though through his drowsiness, it could have been three or four hours ago and he would not know. Begging that day had brought him a meagre store of sans. "Not even enough to buy scraps from the taverns," he muttered to himself viciously. Pulling himself up, he propped himself on the barrel next to him, taking some time to massage the aching stump that used to be his calf. The missing leg brought him a fair amount of sans, depending on the day.

Trabis grabbed the makeshift crutch he had hidden behind the barrel and started to limp his way down the alley. Midnight or not, the taven would still be open, and three sans (almost all he had) could get him an ale that would chase away the regrets of his lifetime - for a while.

Ahead of him was the boy again; hardly surprising because the alley was a one-way street. Trabis studiously ignored the boy's fiddling around, until he witnessed a sharp flash of silver, and a thin hand slipping its spoils into a ragged coat pocket. An eyebrow rose, and a deep chuckle boomed from the man. "Looks like ye be seeking trouble, aye, child? Tha' hole wi' the shiney; it belongs to the witch livin' east of the city."

[Kareesh Valendar]

Kareesh lay upon the ground, feigning sleep. She's been awake for an hour or so, but her body was sore from sleeping on the ground. This wasn't a normal occasion for her, but she needed work, and the streets were the best place to find it quickly. Nothing had presented itself to her, but this was only her first day in Milkengrad.

A rustle of clothing brought her attention to the alley. A child was walking, his hand feeling the brickwork of the walls. A one-legged man was starting to stir, he looking just as uncomfortable as Kareesh felt. Suddenly, she saw the child stick his hand into a hole in the wall. Sognastheen eyes watched the child as he fiddled with something shiny. Her sharp eyes could tell it was a ring. Experience told her that things like that could make quite a bit of a profit on the underground market. Her interested was piqued even more by what the one-legged man said.

"Looks like ye be seeking trouble, aye, child? Tha' hole wi' the shiney; it belongs to the witch livin' east of the city."

A witch? If what the old man says is true, then perhaps that ring was enchanted. If that was the case, then the profits would be even higher. Already, Kareesh's mind was thinking of ways to get this treasure from the child. Killing him was not something she wanted to do, though if it came down to it, she could steel herself and get the deed done. No, this job had to be done with finesse and a bit of acting on her part.

She watched as he passed her. Letting him get ahead of her, she started to stir. Getting up, she hide her excitement underneath a blank mask of uncaring. She shook out her cape and proceeded to follow the child at a distance, making sure to keep out of his sight and notice. She needed to see where he was going. Then she could put her plan into action....

[Gilith]

Gilith hacked away at the tree. It was felled easily. Gilith was quite strong and had been doing this since he was young. This made his job quite easy. The tree which was large took a bit longer to chop into smaller logs however. He did decide to leave it there when he was done as it was close to where he was living for the moment.

Gilith hefted around ten logs one his back. They weren't huge but they would need to be split in half once he reached Simmone's house for her to use them as fire wood.

As Gilith walked towards the old woman's house with his burden on his back he thought to himself. That this was nice. This peace was nice. It would not last forever though. Or at least he wouldn't stay here for ever. But it was a nice place for a couple months before he started traveling again.

Gilith lost in his thought was surprised as he found himself at the old woman's house so soon. He dropped the logs outside her house and began to split then put them into a pile for her to use.

He called out. "Hello Miss Miler, I'm just stopping by to deliver some firewood!"

He figured that she would need it to get through the winter. After all an older woman living alone would have a tough enough time with just surviving much less chopping up wood for the fire.

[Ras]

He nearly jumped out of his skin at the sound of a booming, baritone voice behind him. An alley at midnight was not the place and time you wanted to meet someone. Even a child knew this. He stuck a hand into his pocket and clutched his newfound ring in a small fist.

Ras turned quickly, the bottom half of his red coat swiveling around his hips. He moved with the quick, jerky motions of a startled deer, ready to flee. Yet he thrust his chin up and out and looked to the stranger. The man's stump of a leg already had the boy edging away.

“A witch? What kind of witch? Is she old and ugly? Does she have a big, black cauldron? She has warts on her nose, don't she? I bet she stalks these streets at night as a black cat!” The flow of questions stopped for just an instant as he toyed with the ring in his coat's pocket. “The ring is hers then? How'd she make it? Did she turn some fool into a ring? It's silver like the moon... she made the moon into a ring!”

He craned his neck back to stare at the night sky. “Yep. No moon. That has to be it.” He looked to the cripple again. “Wait. Why do I care about some dumb witch and her stupid ring?”

[Seh'nara Celebrindal]

Simonne:

Simonne heard Gilith's woodcutting before he called for her. She greatly appreciated the young woodcutter's kindness in helping an old woman through winter. Too many youngsters these days wanted little to do with elders like her, even if it was a simple hello, how are you madam. Pushing herself off her rocking chair, she set aside the herbs she was sorting into separate bunches. She moved to the kitchen and busied herself making a tray piled with fruits and milk for Gilith. Balancing the tray on her hand, she used the other hand to open the kitchen door and step out into the biting cold.

"Hello Gilith. What a fine day it is," she smiled, the sight of the man warming her heart. He truly was a kind fellow. She noticed the pile of logs beside him, neatly split in two and usable for the winter. "Please, have a drink on me. And fruits; you must be hungry," she said, putting down the tray on an open tree stump near Gilith.

Trabis:

Trabis smiled in amusement at the child's ramblings. He could tell the boy was not at ease with him; who would be when a stranger accosted you in the middle of the night - at some lonely alleyway, no less! The child's musing was likely a product of nervousness, he deduced.

But perhaps he had misspoke. "Aye, a witch, of sorts. Simonne Miller, she be a healer. A herbalist. She knows how 'ta cure you just like THAT," Trabis snapped his fingers at the end for emphasis. "I seen men dying, to her house, an' when they come out, BAM, they be well ag'in." Trabis couldn't resist, clapping his hands together to drive home his point.

He had debated going to her for his foot, a long time ago. But it never worked out; no matter how much witchcraft the healer wrought, she would never be able to gift him a leg. A little bit of him begrudged her that, though he knew it was folly. He also knew that she was a kindly woman, and willing to help all the urchins on the street.

Groaning a little, Trabis fell onto one knee in front of the boy, putting him at eye level. "Tell ye what, boy. You bring that lovely ring to its rightful owner, and there be a reward for you. Anything your heart desires, you tell that Miller, and you ask for it. See if that witch can bamboozle one out of thin air."

[Ras]

His attention span was like a songbird flittering from one branch to the next. Hard to grasp and easy to lose entirely. The more this strange, one-legged man rambled on, the less Ras listened to him. He was fingering the ring in his coat pocket again, all too tempted to take it out for one more quick look. But he didn't trust this guy. No way would he bring the ring out only to have it snatched.

He jumped, startled, as the gimp clapped his hands together. The boy's attention was on his words again, albeit briefly. Only the words “anything your heart desires” seemed to reach him as Ras said, “Anything I want? For this ring? Deal!”

He didn't wait for an answer. He turned and started to run east. He didn't know where exactly the witch lived. He wasn't even entirely sure that this was east. But why bother to stop and think about those things? It was much more fun just to run without a worry about anything.

[Gilith]

Gilith started to lift the logs and place them near the house for easy reach as he spoke. "Well that is very kind of you Simmone. I truly appreciate this." Gilith walked over to Simmone and asked her as took the tray from the tree stump. "But I must say that I am not hungry enough to finish this by myself, would you please help me with this?" Gilith said to her with a smile. He grabbed a piece of fruit and began eating and then raised the tray a little so that it would within easy reach of Simmone.

Gilith did not want to insult Simmone so he did not reject her request as he truly appreciated it. But in all honesty he would have to leave relatively soon in order to reach his current "house" before nightfall. He figured that this nice meal if shared with this kind women wouldn't take up enugh to time to make him late, and he also did not entirely wish to take her food from her for doing something that was not only easy but sopmething that he was happy to do.

[Seh'nara Celebrindal]

Simonne

Simonne thanked the gentleman with a smile. He really was generous, and the little she could give, she would give. He did not need to labour for her, but he did, and she appreciated it. Even sharing the food that she was giving him was a shining example of a gracious man.

She reached for a grape, plucking it deftly from the tray he proffered to her. "Thank you, Gilith. Why don't you take that tray of food home? I'm sure you're needed somewhere other than here; aiding a poor old woman like myself. Youngsters like you so rarely come by that it's always a treat to treat you." A grategul smile blossomed across her wrinkled face, tracing laugh lines that had been etched through the years.

"Take the tray with you, you can return it tomorrow, or later. You cannot say no! I insist," she said firmly, pushing the tray back towards him.

[Gilith]

Gilith smiled at this women's generosity and before he left he said.

"Very well thank you very much Simmone. I truly appreciate this." Gilith stepped forward and hugged Simmone with one arm and held the tray with the other for a moment.

He let go of her and he said. "Good bye Simmone, have a wonderful day."

Then turning he left for the trail eating none but a few small pieces of the fruits as he left. He would like to save them for when he arrived at his place of residence if he could.

Turning back he yelled out to her from down the trail.

"And don't worry! I shall return this tray first thing tomorrow!"

[Simonne Miller]

Simonne watched the woodcutter leave with a smile on her face. Some fruit was the least she could do, since he wouldn't hear of her paying him. She wondered if he was always that generous - how would he make his living if none of his customers paid him? But then that was his business, really. She was just grateful for the supply of wood that he had for her. She waved when he called out that he would return in the morning, then turned to go into her house.

She was still not entirely sure if she had made the right choice settling here. She was a ways out of the city, and alone to boot. Still, people knew how to find her when they needed her, as she did have something of a reputation around here. She had to admit that it was nice being able to sleep on an actual bed every evening, rather than spending half her days outdoors. After all, she wasn't getting any younger.

She returned to her herbs, lost in thought but on the whole not unhappy.

[Ras]

He ran with a boy's carelessness, ducking under and dodging around anyone in his way, panting as his boots struck pavement again and again. The streets were mostly empty at this midnight hour with only cut-purses stirring in the dark, but Ras was a blur of red that was past before they had time to think about harming the boy.

Winded, nearly out of breath, he skidded to a halt at the edge of the city, the forest looming near. The trees were foreboding with deep shadows beneath their boughs, the shadows deep enough to disappear into. He swallowed hard and put one leaden leg before the other, walking slowly now.

It was by luck that he found it. A trail meandered through the trees. Ras started to walk along it. Each time bushes near him rustled, Ras jumped, startled, the small hairs on the back of his neck prickling his coat's collar. The forest was east of the city, and this trail was bound to lead to her hut. Witches always lived at the end of trails in forests. Everyone knew that.

[Carilinaa]

 

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