[Kransha]

He was sitting now, but propped up on his back legs as if ready to uncoil those legs and spring forward with catlike agility to pounce upon his prey. Night had fallen, though there was a crimson rim tinting the dusky horizon over the line of trees that halted further vision into the distance.

The hobbit glanced about with a pang of anxiety in his look as he focused on the small, weighty purse that hung precariously from the wall of the Whitfoot wagon, just waiting, even screaming to be taken by some villainous thief. Kalimac took a nervous glance at Fordogrim, who had drifted into slumber as planned, and then at Marcho and Harold, who leaned beside him, both putting on a much better show of being asleep than he. He couldn’t even pretend, though. There was far too much on his mind. All the memories of his contemplations stung at him as he leaned back, maintaining a threadbare façade.

The memory, resilient and firm, of the last sunrise and sunset stuck firmly in him.

He’d given more thought to the matter of the Chubbs after his meeting with Marcho and Harold. He had work to do certainly, but thinking to do as well, and soon if his brain could manage it. He weighed the plight of the Chubbs, a dilemma present in his mind for almost a whole week now, shoved aside just slightly by his concern for Crispin, but still very obviously present at his mind's front.

‘They’re really not so bad’ he had thought as he strolled through the camp, murmuring half out loud, ‘…Not bad at all…Harold is a hobbit better than I, no matter what I say of it. I’m a rich fool, and I would care greatly if my funds were lost. But he doesn’t care that it was something valuable he lost, I’ll wager. He cares about the necklace because it was a gift, a heartfelt gift, to his wife. By all the shadows in the Old Forest, I’m no more than a selfish oaf, a penny-pinching miser. That’s it; from now on it’s going to be different! And when this whole blasted thing is over, I’ll give Harold and his wonderful family what I should’ve given them years ago, indeed I shall! But, first and foremost, I’ll make sure this thief is caught and get Crispin out of trouble, then to other business. Let’s see then; that’s quite a lot of reparations to make. At least Harold and his young ones are less antagonized by me now. That only leaves…Fordogrim. Well, he’ll be gotten to and turn. I have my own family to worry about. Oh my, there’s so much to do and so little time to do it in. Best get cracking, I suppose. Workto be done, work to be done...’

Slowly but surely, Kalimac’s pace increased until he broke into an equestrienne gallop, plowing past wagons and letting his limbs dangle behind like numb wings which glanced off the shoulders and arms of so many. He soon fixed his keen, focused eyes upon the sight of his young daughter, who already had a melancholy air about her as she sat on the wagon side, her feet swinging limply beneath her as she stared glumly at the ground, probably displeased by the lack of a jovial older sibling to play with. Alora’s apparent mood just fueled Kalimac’s resolve. He ran over to her, recovering the use of his arms in full, and clasped her firmly by the shoulders, wincing inwardly as he realized how much he’d shocked her. He looked meaningfully into her eyes as he spoke, examining her gaze as it met easily with his.

“Alora, dear, I have something that I really need you to do for me.” She looked intrigued already, “It’s actually a game, one you must play with Henry and May Chubb for me, and it’s very important. You see, Alora, you have to do some acting and a little job. Before the sun goes down tonight, you must go off and play in our wagon.” She still looked enthusiastic about it, nodding vigorously after each sentence, much to Kal’s delight, “There will be a bag in there, which you have to ‘find’ in there, yes?” a prompt and energetically youthful nod affirmed her understanding, “Good. Then, you must take it out, still playing the game, and show it to May and Henry. Now, you must pretend that you did not know where the bag was, or what is in it. This may confuse you, but it is very important if we wish to get Crispin out of mean mister Headstrong’s wagon. You're a crucial part of the plan, Alora, and I know you can handle that responsibility, am I right?" she nodded further, "So, you understand?”

Again, a gleeful nod from his daughter came. For the first time in two weeks, Kalimac smiled genuinely at anyone. Only luck had it that that someone was his saddened child. She seemed strangely spirited by the idea, which she gave her father credit for. Still grinning soothingly, he let go of her shoulders and backed off carefully, responding to her nod with one of his own as he turned and sprinted madly off, like a Halfling possessed into the mass of wagons in the caravan.

Now the trap was set, the job had been done, all was ready. But, one thing had to be done before the arrival of that thief. The acting of May, Henry, and Alora had been done, superbly in Kal’s opinion, but that could not be brooded on. Something had to be accomplished before the knave’s arrival. Shaking Harold’s shoulder reluctantly, Kal turned to the Harfoot as he was jogged from his false slumber and looked quizzically at Kalimac. “Harold, this has been, if you’ll hear me out, my hardest few weeks ever. The strain of this journey has done a lot to both of us, but the greatest hardship to come will not be, for me, the capturing and punishing of our thief, but what I am about to do and say.”

Harold still looked confused as Kalimac whispered, his soft voice still overshadowing the clicking noises that hiccupped every so often from the roadside. The words didn’t come easily as Kalimac forced them doggedly up his throat, stammering madly as he tried to hold eye contact with the Chubb in his employment. His mouth sagged, bouncing up and down and projecting no sound until nervous, stuttering, shuddering, shivering Kal Whitfoot began to speak, choking back half the syllables of his oration before they were emitted.

“H-Harold…I’m…I’m very sorry…about attacking your father and blaming your children for the incident in the woods, really. I had no idea…then, at least, that there was so much more I should be thinking of. I didn’t realize how selfish and stupid I was acting, and what you said a week ago really made me think. I’ve treated you well, but not well enough over these years, for which I again apologize, most profusely, Harold. I can’t tell you how much I’ve been dying to tell you this, since I never realized I had to. Now I’ve told you, and I hope you can accept my apologies…along with a decade’s back-pay for all the funds I deducted from your pay, to be paid now in full, with interest.”