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After finishing his much needed breakfast, Crabannan had wandered through the camp at an leisurely pace. Skirting the work parties and tents, he slipped through the camp unnoticed, but observant, gnawing on the remnants of the bread (which Kara had given him at breakfast) as he took in the sights and sounds of Scarburg. Like a young tree, the settlement was alive and growing fast, sending out branches and putting down roots in this hard, rocky land.
Crabannan could not help but be impressed by the tenacity of these Rohirrim, carving out their living where was so little to be had. Seldom had he met a people as tough as they - save perhaps in the hot south.
After he grew bored of eavesdropping and shirking work, Crabannan wandered his way towards the eastern end of the camp, and thence up onto the Scar. He scrambled and clambered up the rocky slope, through jagged rocks and scrawny pines until he suddenly found himself looking out and down across a vast region of reeds and mud and little pools; and beyond that, in the distance, green fields. Turning back towards the west, he saw the settlement of Scarburg nestled at the foot of the Scar. He sat down atop a large flat rock in the sun and, there, for an hour or more, he watched the bustle of the fledgling tent-village: women carrying baskets, boys raking stones out of garden plots, men repairing tents, smoke drifting up from scattered fires.
Without Horse to converse with, and surrounded by solitude and silence, Crabannan grew thoughtful. He cursed himself for acting like such a fool that morning, and wondered gloomily what reports those three boys were spreading about him. The thought dashed his hitherto good mood. Impressed by the hospitality he had been shown, he had begun to consider staying on for a few more days, but he doubted he would be welcome once Lord Eodwine (whom Kara had told him about during breakfast) found out what kind of man he was - an apparent troublemaker and a ruffian. But perhaps these Middle Emnet folk were more gracious than their East Emnet cousins. All the same - Crabannan had no intention of introducing himself to the eorl. There was no need to. He would lay low and quiet for a day or two, then continue on to Edoras.
Below, a knot of folk carrying something towards him caught his glance, and a practiced eye told him it was a corpse. He slipped down from his perch and moved down through the boulders for a closer look. He saw them bury it without ceremony in the rocky soil, and then head off back towards the encampment.
"Curious," he said aloud to himself. "I would have thrown it in the bog and saved the trouble of digging."
Who could the dead man have been? It seemed unlikely that it could have been someone the villagers knew well, given the indifferent burial. Perhaps it was connected somehow with the burning of the hall...? After all, Kara had not been able to tell him how the hall had burned. Perhaps...perhaps friendly and hospitable Scarburg had its skeletons after all.
Crabannan chuckled wryly to himself, for he suddenly found himself very badly wanting to stay. Scarburg was steadily becoming a rather interesting place.
Upon reflection, he reckoned that with a little effort he could find himself some legitimate work and a friend or two. Perhaps he'd seek out Javan, who he had rather taken a liking to, and see if the lad could help him settle in. He swung down over a final boulder and began to move back towards camp. He was hungry again.
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