* Giles Harfoot sprang slightly forward in his chair at the wind's blasting open the door, but kept himself from dashing out into the whirling whorling whitelands. He'd recovered from his first shock of realizing he was off to have an adventure, that sober night of slim soup eaten all alone followed by the finality of packing equipment onto Puddlejump the Pony. He'd withdrawn into himself that other night, hoping that in the morning he'd awake to bacon frying, and blueberry pancakes with butter, and gentle spring drizzle melting into a rainbow and long soft grass beneath his feet instead of harsh, unrelenting ice. *
* He'd even hoped, (though he felt bad about it) that the valiant Bullroarer Took's grand quest was only a fable of old, or indeed, of fantasy. A fable best heard at a picnic under the Party Tree in Midsummer, as fireflies flitted languidly and stars peeked out to glow in a warm haze, not glint like hard cold crystals. But now, surrounded by new friends, warmth and laughter, Giles' love of winter from deep childhood came to the fore. *
I KNOW A FAMILY ALONG THE EAST ROAD NEAR WHITFURROWS, BRANDA !!! ... * Realizing how loud his voice had grown in his enthusiasm, Giles turned beet red. * ... Their name is Harfoot! There are plenty o' Harfoots, in fact! They're my kin!
* Giles jumped to his feet as though he'd just danced the springle-ring, or was just about to launch into dance. * I then volunteer to scout the road ahead tomorrow, Autumn and I. Right Autumn? * He flashed her a disarming smile. * [img]smilies/smile.gif[/img]
* Giles bowed with a flourish and sat content. Certainly he'd be accepted as a volunteer. He didn't speak aloud all that was in his mind, however. For one thing, Giles hoped no one had caught the shudder that had run through him at the mention of fish. Fish had twice been his bane and bested him in the past year ... Once, he'd gotten a bad batch of clams, and then there was a catch of perch which hadn't agreed with him. Giles figured that there had to be Some other food-game around, fowl in particular maybe, quail, pheasant, duck, goose. Or even a good rabbit. A deer was too big a feast to hope for, but still he hoped. *
* Giles' other unspoken thought revolved around the boarded up Inn. Surely since the occupants had left The Barking Hound of their own choosing, and surely since need drove the group ... Well, being a carpenter, removing nails from boards was easy as pie. Easier, sadly, since pies were now hard to come by. And those boards ... they could prove useful, maybe. *
[ December 02, 2002: Message edited by: Gandalf_theGrey ]
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