[Aylwen Dreamsong]

Keeping to the shadows of the long hallway, Whisper tiptoed over the wooden floorboards. Toe first, then her heel. Turning a corner in the dark house, Whisper poked her head into the only lit room in the homestead at the time: the study. A large, almost beast-sized man sat hunched over a table full of worn yellow parchment. The dull glow of four candles –one in each corner- offered many shadowy places to hide as the rays hit bookshelves or statues.

Peering about the room, Whisper made not a sound, so as not to alert the huge man to her whereabouts, or that she was even in his home. Her sharp, haze-grey eyes easily caught the figure of her friend Joal across the room, quickly leaping from shadow to shadow. As he prepared to sprint from the darkness of the opposing hallway to the shade of a bookshelf in the corner, Joal’s left foot hit a rickety floorboard, and the lord of the house looked up. Joal froze, and Whisper flinched. When the man finally looked back down at the papers, Joal leaped light-footedly into the shadow cast by the shelf.

The man must’ve had sharp ears, for he heard whatever sound Joal had made again! The man moved form his spot at the table to the corner, where Joal had hidden himself. Cursing her luck, Whisper sprinted from her own wall and grabbed all the papers that had engulfed the desk. The rustling of paper could barely be heard by even Whisper, but the large oaf still heard it, and whipped his head around. Ducking below his desk, Whisper had given Joal enough time to squeeze his strong, lanky body between the shelf and wall. Shimmying towards the open door to the right of the shelf, Joal tried his hardest not to make a sound. Whisper bit her bottom lip as the vase at the top of the shelf quivered, and the books began to hit one another and the shelf’s boards.

Joal! Whisper cursed the boy’s luck (or lack thereof) under her breath as she stood up from her hiding place and drew her dagger. They were being paid to kill the man anyway, as well as steal the ‘precious’ documents he had recently received from who knows where. Throwing the dagger through the air, it spun and made a quite audible whistling sound. Turning around again, the man moved just in time to accept the blade into his forehead. Whisper cringed. That must be painful.

“Joal! Let’s go! NOW!” Whisper called to the boy. Joal took the time to bring his arms up (with great difficulty, mind you.) and shove the bookcase away from the wall. It fell upon the man, and one last grunt was heard through the banging of books against floor.

Running out of the house the way they had come in, Whisper rushed out the back door behind Joal. The two ran until they reached the forest behind the man’s homestead.

“What do you think they are? What do they say?” Joal inquired breathlessly, for he could not read. Whisper shuffled through the papers, and skimmed through the bulk of the boring papers.

“Why is it that whatever we steal never makes any sense to us? I don’t understand why anyone would pay us to steal something like this,” Whisper sighed and stuffed the papers into her pack that was slung over her shoulder.

“Who cares as long as they pay us? You’ll need the money to get a new dagger,” Joal pointed out.

“Correction: you’ll need the money. I would’ve gotten my dagger back, if you hadn’t dropped that bookcase on him!” Whisper shoved Joal as the two slowly trekked out of the wood that had been their cover for a few moments.

“Whichever. A better dagger would soon be necessary anyway. Even I could hear that spinning blade of yours!”

“What’s next after we give these back to that Southron man?” Whisper asked, rummaging through her messy pack to find a large map. Opening it, Whisper pointed out the teens’ location: just south of Fangorn Forest, near the River Entwash. They were in Rohan, the land of the Strawheads.

“Well…I didn’t want to say anything but…” Joal stuttered and his voice trailed off.

“What?”

“I was asked to give you this,” Joal pulled a medium-sized pouch from his tunic pocket and handed it to Whisper. It was full of gold coins and other jewelry and finery. “They say there’s more if we can get the job done.”

“Who? Why?” Whisper asked, knowing there was always a catch for such a large sack of money.

“A group of Easterlings up north, just before we were hired to kill that man. A strange man killed their leader, and they said they’d heard of you, and were wondering if you could return the favor to the man. I’d also be wondering if you’d be willing to let me in on the deal?” Joal already knew the answer, but still eyed the bag of jewels suspiciously.

“I don’t know why you even ask, Joal. You know I will. As long as you don’t get us caught like you almost did back there. Let’s go. The man who hired us can wait a while for his papers. If he can’t, I’m sure there are plenty of other tribe leaders who’d find these papers interesting and worth a few coins or pieces of jewelry,” Whisper finished, and the two began to leave the woods. “Does anyone know where he was last seen?”

“The tribe’s scout followed the man to Rohan, but then went back to tell the new leader that they should be getting professionals!” Joal finished speaking with pride filling his voice. He liked the thought of being called ‘professional’ and getting paid before and after deals.

“There’s an inn I’ve been to before, a very popular inn…It’s called the White Horse. We’ll go there and see if we can find anything,” Whisper decided, and the two made their way for the White Horse Inn.

[ March 18, 2003: Message edited by: Aylwen Dreamsong ]