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Old 04-04-2006, 04:51 PM   #187
Lalwendė
A Mere Boggart
 
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Join Date: Mar 2004
Location: under the bed
Posts: 4,814
Lalwendė is battling Black Riders on Weathertop.Lalwendė is battling Black Riders on Weathertop.
"Just get on with it. I want every last bit of dirt cleaned off those bridles, and I want them shining. My horses will have only the best. And I don't want to hear any more shouting."

Larswic had found the lads hanging over a fence and shouting challenges at some other lads, who looked ready for a fight. He only had to yell at them and they jumped back down from the fence and shuffled over quietly. He knew the best thing to do was to set them to some hard work that would keep them busy until their next meal, and after that, they would be so tired they would want to go to bed. It was one thing to run about and make a noise in the fields, but here in the city they would be bothering people. Besides, he didn't want them bothering him.

The sun felt warm and he wandered around the yard, inspecting the buildings. If there was no other money to be made here, he thought, at least some could be made by labouring to help rebuild this wreck. It was like a barn compared to the golden hall of Meduseld with its gilding and carvings. Still, a less elaborate Mead Hall meant less of a levy to pay. He liked the thought and laughed to himself.

The finely dressed young woman was sitting in the yard, working on some plan on paper. She might be haughty, but she was ladylike, and that was something he understood, unlike the young women who liked to take on masculine ways. He stood and watched her for a minute; her concentration on the plan she was drawing interested him. Then he noticed the plan. It seemed to be of the Mead Hall itself.

One of the horses in the stable snorted loudly, and the girl looked up and noticed Larswic looking at her. He nodded and turned away, struck by her scornful gaze. He felt sure he would find a way to get her interest, maybe with some of the finer gold he carried with him. Patting his pocket, he checked it was all there, as he did many times a day.

This made him think of his Knucklestones and he took out the little leather pouch he kept them in, sat down on an empty barrel and began to practice his hand for the catching game. The knucklebones were real bones from pigs, but older than he was, and now barely recognisable as such. At some time designs had been painted on them but these were now worn and chipped, they were so old and well used.

He made a fist of his right hand, then placed each little, ivory coloured bone on top before giving his fist a sudden flick upwards which sent the bones into the air. As he did this, he opened his hand as quick as lightning and snatched them all up into his palm. Anyone who had seen him might have thought they had disappeared into thin air, his hand moved so swiftly. Over and over he repeated this move, the bones making a soft and barely audible clatter as he caught them, his concentration was complete. This was one of the ways he made his money.
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