Gilly
The gusting breeze that had accompanied them through the barren landscape, carrying with it the grit and dry heat of summer, began to loose strength as the afternoon waned. Even so Gilly still struggled valiantly to keep the fire alive. It would be night soon enough and if any scavengers were to smell death in the air, she wanted to know about it, and that preferably before they had had a chance to trouble the wounded man. No pitch black listening for noises in the night. But this fire was a smoky pitiful thing. The wood she found had all been poor and green, more scrub than proper fuel.
Looking up to measure the dark curling smoke that rose above them before being carried to the east, she saw that two carrion birds had begun describing a slow circle above. “Ack, now there is a cheery sight,” she muttered to herself. “If only they knew it was the orcs who lay dead perhaps they wouldn’t be so eager to visit us. Nothing sweet about that lot.” Watching them wheeling overhead, she thought fleetingly about the life she had brought to an end that day. It was strange but she had felt no remorse, not so much as hint of guilt. Thankfully, there had been no question of what needed to be done and no time to think about it. The ranger had been in need and she, by a stroke of fortune, had been able to assist him. And this not a moment too soon.
She looked at Dúlrain as he sat by the fire, Benia close at hand. The life that illuminated his kind eyes had been so close to being cut loose from the circles of world on their account. She would not forget it.
Getting up stiffly, the hobbit walked toward the entrance to their nest among the briars, whispering to Benia as she passed, “I’ll just look to see if I can lay in some more sticks before evening comes. If I don’t return soon send Mr. Kaldir after me, you can tell him I’ve run off if you like,” she winked. “I think I might have need of him if there are any more orcs about!”
Overhearing her Dúlrain spoke quietly, “It is not likely that you will see any, Mrs. Tunnelly. By all reckoning it was a small band. And if there are more, they are not yet near.”
The hobbit shot Benia an unsettled look at the mention of the name Tunnelly. “Oh sir, you may call me Gilly if you’d like, and I thank you for the comfort as well as the saving of us! But I should be trying to comfort you,” she said avoiding his glance. “And if I can, I will make you something special for supper if you feel you can manage it. But first I must find go have a look see what delicacies might be had in such a place as this.” Then addressing Benia she said, “You take good care of our friend here for me won’t you Miss Benia? I think rather highly of him for saving our lives and wouldn’t want any harm to come to him now!”
“Yes, of course I will Gilly,” Benia assured her friend as she moved to tend the fire in the hobbit’s absence.
Satisfied that she could safely leave her two charges. Gilly emerged from their hiding place and began scouring the bluffs for herbs and firewood. She could not see Kaldir anywhere, but heard the dull clack of stones from behind a ridge downwind from their camp. She was deep in thought puzzling over the two men as she went, and what to do if their guest insisted on calling her Mrs. Tunnelly. She supposed that she might get used to it, but still she found it disturbing. Mrs. Tunnelly was friends with bounty hunters and killed orcs and chased after Naiore Dannan, but Mrs. Banks raised her boys, keeping house in Bywater and tatted by the fireside in her spare time. She wiped away the small tear that found it’s way to her bruised cheek.
“Who has done this to you? And why are you weeping?” she heard a voice say softly. Looking up she saw, grizzled and birdlike, the ranger who Kaldir had seemed so angry with, his eyes brimming with concern. “Am I too late?”
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