Harla's Tale: Heart of Fire

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Reflection: Life of a Bounder (Part II)

Later, after she had reported the deed done, felt good to be giving back the sword, and felt bad about accepting money for the task, Harla took the road north, to Scary. She waved to Heather Proudfoot, pottering in her garden as usual, as she approached. The old woman smiled back, waving her trowel.

“Hullo there, Harla, what a nice surprise! Come in for a cup, or are you just passing by?” She dug her trowel into the soft soil and stood, dusting off her hands. The answer was a given, really, and they both knew it. Harla rested her club and shield outside the door, and after a moment’s thought, paused to pull her armoured boots off as well. She sighed, rubbing the soles of her feet on the soft grass for a moment, enjoying the sensation, before following the old woman inside.

Before long she was sitting at the table with a hot blackcurrant drink in her hands, chatting with a content smile on her face. Her host was rustling about in the pantry, re-emerging a moment later with a large earthenware jar. There were rich, golden oat biscuits inside, smelling strongly of honey, and Harla took one quickly. She wrinkled her nose as she got to talking about her last assignment for the afternoon, and Gammy nodded her head with a small sigh.

“Yes, it’s a nasty business, that, my girl… but that’s always going to be a part of what being a bounder is all about, you know. We take care of the nastiness that creeps in, so other folk don’t need to see it. You did get the job done though, didn’t you?” Harla nodded, but her brow wrinkled for a moment.
“We? You were a bounder, Gammy?” Here, the old woman smiled.
“Once, yes, when I was much younger… until those well-meaning old fools thought I ought not to be doing bound work at my age, anyway. I don’t mind, really, though. It gives me more time to take care of my garden, after all. Do go on though; you sounded like you were getting to something.” She tilted her head, watching Harla with those old eyes that always seemed to know everything anyway, and the younger woman hesitated, biting her lip.
“There was something odd, Gammy, and I’m really not even sure if I heard what I did, but, after I’d dealt with the wolves, a really big one showed up. He looked different from the others, and his eyes…” As she spoke, telling her all about her encounter, Heather began to look thoughtful, finishing her drink, then getting up to pour fresh.
When Harla finished, looking hopefully to her Gammy for an answer, the other woman nodded to herself.

“I wouldn’t doubt yourself, Harla. If you think you heard him talk, then you may well have. The eyes, the teeth, the difference in shape, I’d say that sounds like a warg, if you believe such a thing. We’ve not had wargs in the Shire for a very long time, not since back in the Fell Winter, and that was a dark, dark time. You’ve heard some of the stories?” Harla couldn’t help but look across the table incredulously.
“You were alive back during the Fell Winter? But that was a hundred years ago, how old are you, Gammy?” She immediately clapped a hand to her mouth, blushing, but the old woman only raised her eyebrows.
“It’s not polite to ask, my girl, but I was only very little, and we’re made of harder stuff up here in Scary. It’s the stone, I think. Anyway, that sort of intelligence is something everyone always mentions, so I’d be on my guard if I were you. But enough of that, how’s your drink? Ready for a top up?” Harla grinned, holding her mug out for Heather to take and refill. The other woman continued as she made a fresh mug at the stove-top.

“I’ve got a surprise for you, Harla dear. Some of those clothes of yours seem to be getting a touch thin in places, I’ll wager it’s the armour you’ve been wearing lately, rubbing them more than usual, so, I’ve been working on a few new outfits for you, with some fresh fabric that’s been gathering dust back in my stores. Would you like to try them on?” Harla suppressed a small squeak of surprise and delight. Gammy had patched up a few of her tears and holes here and there, but no-one had ever made clothes just for her, specifically. “I’ll take that as a yes, shall I?” She was smiling as she placed the fresh drink on the table in front of Harla. “Bring that through, and we’ll see how it all looks.” They headed through, back to a larger sitting room, scattered about with what Harla now saw to be the hallmarks of much needlework. Her eyes quickly found a small folded pile of finished garments sitting on the edge of one table, looking to be mostly reds and whites. She’d always liked red. Heather approached the pile and, setting her mug down, picked up the top shirt, examining it.

“Right, get that metal off you, and we’ll try these on. I’ve a pretty good eye for measurements, generally speaking, so they should fit well enough. If we need to make any adjustments, it shouldn’t take too long.” She began to lay out the garments as Harla set about undoing and pulling off her armour, setting it on the floor beside her. Once it was off she pulled her shirt over her head as well, then folded her arms across her chest. Gammy had glanced at her as the shirt came off, and Harla felt particularly aware of the fact that she didn’t really have anything much worth covering.
“Mmmhm… I suspected as much; still no need of a breast band or the like, dear? You should be thankful, you know. More hassle than they’re worth.” With a small sigh and a still somewhat embarrassed smile, Harla let her arms drop, reaching out for the new shirt instead. Gammy helped her pull it on over her head. “I assumed as much while I was making the shirts. I gave them all lace fronts, like this, you see?” She was tying the laces swiftly as she spoke. “That way you ought to be able to do up the shirt itself as firmly as you need… let’s see, how’s that feel at the moment?” Harla stretched her arms around her body, arching and flexing her shoulders.

“It’s good. It feels really nice.”
“No movement at the front? Not too tight?”
“There’s never really very much movement at the front, Gammy, not even when I’m naked. I like it though.” The other woman nodded, then reached forward to the laces at Harla’s chest, evening up the crosses.
“Ok, so, we’ll be honest and say that it isn’t very likely you’ll develop much more than you have already by this point, but, if you do and you need the fabric to grip and support a touch more, that’s what the laces are for. They’re done up loose at the moment, just comfortable, but if you tighten them at the bottom of the vee, working upward, the shirt itself should hold any movement still. If it doesn’t, you might need to start thinking about a proper band, but chances are you won’t need to. Oh, don’t make that face, listen, as much as you might hear boys appreciate girls with assets, they’ll never complain about someone with less, trust me.” Harla rolled her eyes.
“Thanks, Gammy… But thankyou, really, for doing this for me, I just don’t know what to say really…” The other woman grinned as she set two more similar shirts aside, and picked up what appeared to be a pair of leggings.
“Say you’ll take good care of them, and come to me if you ever need a patch. The needlework is fun, you know. Now, try these on for me, too, and we’ll see how it looks all together.” She held out the leggings, made of a thick, red fabric, with reinforced needlework around the hems. Still a touch bashful, Harla kicked off her old pair and began to pull them on. They were snug, but not tight, and the fabric felt unexpectedly soft against her skin. As she tied the lace at the waist, Heather fretted her hands for a moment, looking pensive, then took a quick drink of her tea.

“Harla, dear, listen… I’ve heard some things, lately, and I know how everyone talks, and how stories go, but, you’d tell me if there was a problem, wouldn’t you?” Harla looked up, thrown off for a moment.
“Gammy, I, you know how I live, Gammy, and the way my reputation is these days, I can hardly squeeze a boy’s bottom without half the town knowing, and talking about it, and you know how stories grow as they spread after all.” She sat down across from the older lady, reclaiming her mug and taking a drink. “I’d say don’t worry, but, what did you hear?”
“Well, it’s just that I heard whisper that several of the boys over by Brockenborings had been getting rather, well, insistent, in a bad way for you, about certain things. That they were, not naming names, all in on it, as it were, and you couldn’t say anything, since it was, well, you know, not spoken about to begin with. Oh, Harla, have those scoundrels been forcing you?” Harla was thinking, brow furrowed for a moment, but then she brightened.
“Oh! I know where that must have come from!” She giggled, then blushed despite herself. “I know what they’re talking about now, Gammy. Don’t worry, it’s nothing. I’m fine, honestly, there’s nothing the matter at all.”
“So, you’re not in any trouble?” Heather seemed relieved, the earnest tension in her shoulders relaxing. Harla smirked and leaned in.
“I can tell you the story, if you like.” The other woman pretended, poorly, to look shocked, placing one hand over her mouth, then glanced around as though nosey village gossips might be looking in the windows and listening at the door. She grinned back, then pulled her chair closer with a conspiratorial glint in her eyes.
“Oh go on then, let’s hear it.” Harla giggle again, then blushed a little brighter as she though about where to begin.

“Alright, well, a few weeks ago I was calling on Wilfast Bracegirdle; his family moved up to Brockenborings a few years ago, you remember? Handsome young boy, with lovely hair. Anyway, we were having a cup of tea and catting a little bit before, you know… and he was saying that he heard this story from his friend, Tully Brockhouse, the hole over, about something he’d heard his sister had done. She’s Sapphire Twofoot now, since last year, but apparently she and her husband, Merlo, have made a regular occasion of being intimate not just by themselves, but with Merlo’s brother Bungo as well, all together, the three of them at once, if you believe.” Harla paused for a breath, and to see Heather’s reaction, but the older woman only raised her eyebrows with a small smile.
“I’ve heard of the like, though I never did do it myself. Sapphire, hmm? That’s an interesting bit to tuck away. I’ll bet he planned all day for a way to bring that up in conversation with you, didn’t he?”
“Probably, they’re always a bit tactless when they want something like that, even though they think they’re being clever. Anyhow, I could see what he was aiming at, and I’ve heard about it from time to time, and I just found myself thinking ‘Why not?’, so I just out and asked him if that was what he was wanting to try today, and you won’t believe how shocked he was that I’d just come right out and suggested it like that. So he popped next door to have a quick cuppa with Tully and make the suggestion, and in a few minutes they’re both back looking like little boys who’ve just won all the marbles.” She stopped again, her cheeks hot still as she thought about it.

“And then, well, we, uh, did. It was… interesting. Unusual. A bit sort of, strange, I guess, to have two boys there at once to take care of, but two boys taking care of you at once as well, and I…” She found herself giggling slightly, and bit one finger for a moment. “I really oughtn’t go into any more detail, I don’t think; this is getting lewd.” She sat back, putting the backs of her hands to her cheeks as she composed herself. Heather sat back as well, still smiling faintly.
“It’s alright, dear, you’re hardly going to shock me. I’ll save you going into any of the messy details though; it’s not really of much practical use to me any more, however interesting. Just tell me, it was all friendly and you were comfortable with it all, there was no pressure or anything like that?” Here she reached out to take one of Harla’s hands and hold it. Harla nodded.
“I might even go so far as to say it was fun, in a way, Gammy. I’d consider doing it again, if the atmosphere was right.”
“Oh my, you’ll be spending more time out of these new clothes than in them soon, my dear. You just make sure you take care of yourself, and be careful. You come first, no matter what they whisper. Now. We’ve been sitting talking, those pants fitting ok, no pinching or digging in anywhere? Get up and take a quick walk around for me, dear, see that it’s all right. I’ll go top up the pot.” Harla stood, striding about the room for a minute and stretching her legs thoroughly as Heather picked up the mugs and retreated to the kitchen. At last she stopped, nodding to herself.

“All good. They feel wonderful, Gammy, and study too!” She called out. Her hands drifted around to her back, running fingers over the almost tight fabric at her rear. It seemed to hug her behind more than anywhere else, but it wasn’t uncomfortably tight, or restrictive, even if it did emphasise the curves more than she was used to. Gammy reappeared a moment later.
“Oh, they look lovely on you dear! Need any adjustments anywhere?” Harla shook her head quickly. “No? Grand! Well, there’s three sets there, all the same fit. You can keep that set on and put the others in your pack, if you like, and I can give your old things a proper wash and patch for you. Here’s your fresh dear,” Harla accepted her refilled mug and took a sip. “You can pick them up again next time you stop by, if that’s easy enough. I was actually about to start cooking for the evening. Would you like to stay for supper?”
“Oh I couldn’t,” The answer from politeness was out of her mouth before she realised, but Heather just waved a hand, winking at her.
“Be honest now, my girl.” She picked up Harla’s old clothes swiftly, folding them over one arm as she collected the girl’s mug with the other. Harla ducked her head, grinning.
“Actually, I was meaning to give my armour a good clean before I slept tonight, and it would be much easier to do it here, in the light, than later on once I’ve stopped for the night. I won’t make any mess, I promise, and please let me know if you want help with anything, alright, Gammy?”
“Of course. You just busy yourself as you please, I’ll tell you when the food is ready.” The old woman gave her another smile before disappearing into the kitchen again, and Harla opened her pack, pulling out her cleaning equipment. Next she retrieved her boots from outside, then set everything out to begin working. After a moment, she looked down at herself, and the fresh, clean clothes. It would be a shame to mess them up so quickly. With a small shrug the unfastened the laces and stripped off the new shirt and leggings, folding them neatly and setting them aside on the table before she knelt down to get to work.

It was dark by the time Harla finally said her farewells and set out again, shrugging slightly at the feel of the fresh clothes under her armour. They were thicker, certainly, but not enough to make the scale feel too tight at all. She smiled and breathed the cooling night air deeply as she walked. The night itself was warm and pleasant, and the dinner, as well as the supper that followed had been very good, and she paused, stifling a yawn as she hopped over the wall along the outskirts of Scary. She probably wouldn’t make it as far as Stock before sleepiness convinced her to stop for the night, but it would be pleasant to walk for a little while in the night, and make a start.

Rather than take the road, Harla began to cut across the rolling hills, heading south, but moving east towards the river bank as well. The Brandywine was beautiful to look on at night, when the moon was out brightly as it was now, and she hoped to find a good spot to appreciate the view from for a while before stopping.

Before long she was walking slowly along the last line of hills just before the land fell away to the water’s edge, enjoying the moonlight on the surface of the river. She was about halfway towards Stock by the time her yawns became more frequent then the stretches of time without, and she began to look around for a good place to stop. There wasn’t much wind and the night was warm, so anywhere comfortable enough ought to do. She stopped eventually by a large, round stone, smooth from time and pale white in the moonlight. It stood out from the slope of the gentle hill just enough to make a safe crook for her to rest her pack in without fear of it sliding away anywhere and she set it down with a small sigh.

There was a small stand of trees not too far back past the crest of the hill, but she always seemed to have bad luck with tree roots, and she didn’t feel like walking any more. Instead she carefully slipped off her armour, piece by piece and folded the scale as neatly as it would, sliding the pieces into her pack for safety, and tying the heavy boots to a side strap with the much-used cloth strip. Finally, she unbelted her club, sliding it through the straps of her pack, and covered the lot with her shield, taking a moment to stretch out her arms and shoulders once she had. Lying back on the hillside, Harla placed her hands back behind her head, making no effort to stifle the next yawn that took her, and looked up at the stars, picking out familiar shapes casually with her eyes in the few minutes before sleep reached her.

A sharp, sudden impact tore her awake. Pain in her shoulders as a heavy weight pressed into them, the sound of a throaty snarl and the smell of fur. Her eyes didn’t adjust at once, but as she blinked they met with another pair staring coldly down at her, gold-ringed and fierce in the moonlight. The creature’s front paws pinned her to the ground as it growled at her, face inches from her own.

“Your life is over, little rat. I am Laugfût, the dire-throated, once caller and howler of the warg packs of Angmar, now freed of them by my own strength and master by right. I will kill you for the pleasure of it, but you have crossed me and slaughtered my pack, and for that you must suffer your death to be slow.”

There was no mistaking it this time; the sounds were rough and gravely, but it was definitely the warg above her speaking. Harla struggled, shifting on the soft grass, and managed to throw the creature’s balance off. She tried to roll up, darting for her weapon, but as she fought to pull it free, a weight struck her from behind, slamming her flat against the surface of the rock and driving the wind from her. As she struggled to turn over she was pinned down again, this time with the weight of the creature pressed against the length of her body, front paws holding down her arms at the elbows just as she felt sharp-toothed jaws close about her throat.

“Not so fast, meat.” The voice was less clear, muffled almost, as the razor sharp teeth pressed in against the skin of her neck. “You don’t smell right, but you look like a rat-child, and you sound like one. I’m sure you’ll taste like one too. Halfling meat and blood is the sweetest taste a warg could want for, and your cries will entertain me. Don’t die too quickly.” Harla thrashed, but could barely move under the beast’s strength pressing down on her. She gasped as the teeth tightened enough to begin drawing blood, choking her breath. Suddenly the warg reared back, letting out a fierce snarl. There was no time move before he landed back on top of her, though the teeth did not return and their eyes met again instead.

“What is this!? You’re no Halfling, little monster, your blood tastes like foul orc filth! I will never stomach something that disgusting again, not when there’s a land full of good meat to be had here. You’ve ruined my meal, you little rat-bitch, and you still haven’t suffered enough!” The words broke down into a furious growl and he leaned back to rake at her with one set of unnaturally sharp claws. Harla screamed as the attack sliced easily through the thick fabric of her shirt, drawing three burning tracks across her skin from the top of her shoulder, down across one breast towards her middle. He repeated the slash on the other side as her body flinched instinctively, dragging another pained cry from her. The cuts weren’t deep; the shirt, now ruined, had absorbed most of the strikes, but they burned and stung, and Harla could feel angry, scared tears springing to her eyes.

Laugfût bent his head to clamp his jaws around her neck again, hard enough to make breathing difficult, but differently; there were no sharp edges against her skin this time, as he tried to avoid the taste of her blood.
“Silence, meat. Scream again and the game ends early.” The warg snorted, a burst of hot breath rushing past her ear. “I think I know how to make you suffer now. You’re no good to me as food, but I think you’ll do for something else. The bitches around here are fine, but they are just dumb beasts.” Harla’s panicked mind didn’t follow at once, but she felt his body shift and the claws of one hind leg rest above her hip for a moment. He found the hem of her leggings and raked down, dragging at first, until the sharp claws severed the band and rent the remaining fabric to shreds. She tried to struggle again as his meaning dawned, fighting viciously against him as he raked at her garments with first one leg, then the other. It was no use though, his weight and strength held her pinned even as he swiftly destroyed her remaining garments, leaving her exposed amidst the shreds.

Her mind was blank, drowned in the screamed terror and denials that filled her awareness, even as the pressure on her throat made it impossible to do more than breathe. She tried to cross her legs over, locking them together, but one paw stamped down hard at her groin. She felt the claws pulling at the short hairs, a bare whisper away from delicate skin. He forced her legs apart with the weight of his body, pressing himself down against her with an irresistible strength.

“You try anything and you’ll die in that instant, rat-bitch. Before or after doesn’t matter to me, but I may not even feel like killing you afterwards, if you live that long. You’ll suffer more living with this for the remainder of your miserable excuse for a life.”

A terrified, helpless rage washed through her as she felt the creature thrust his body against her, trying to find her entrance with the thick appendage she could feel growing from its sheath further and further each moment. Hot tears prickled her face and she thrashed despite the warnings, hardly caring if the beast killed her or not; anything to escape what was happening. He found his mark a moment later, and Harla felt a sick sensation creep through her as he pushed inside. Never mind the discomfort, the very though of what was happening made her feel ill all over.

The vile warg was growling with each breath as he thrust more determinedly against her, forcing his way in deep enough to add tears of pain to the rageful and despairing. Harla writhed, whimpering through clenched teeth as he defiled her, then her eyes bulged open for a moment, before squeezing closed in an attempt to shut out what she was feeling. As he thrust into her again and again, seeking ever deeper penetration, she could feel his girth beginning to swell, painfully wider and wider. As her body squeezed tight in rebellion, the growing knot was forced out of her but her attacker responded with a particularly vicious thrust, forcing it back inside. This time a thin shriek did escape her lips as the pain washed out everything else. Her entrance screamed in torment, certain something would tear, but the knot only pressed deeper into her, moving on to stretch the inside of her passage until it felt like it would burst. Harla’s jaw hurt from her clenched teeth, but the warg showed no sign of relenting, making small, fierce thrusts, trying to push himself ever deeper into her. She could feel a trickling sensation at her groin that she was sure had to be more blood from her damaged sex. Furious rage was driving out the despair and fear as the torment continued, her hands bunched into tight fists even though she could barely move.

With a last loud snarl, Laugfût reared back, throwing his head up and crushing her hips against the stone beneath her as he climaxed. A moment later his body spasmed sharply and he fell down again, paws on the rock either side of her. Harla felt a splatter across her face and chest as the creature snarled a breath. It was blood. A thin-shafted arrow stood out from the creatures neck, buried halfway to the fletching. A thin drizzle of blood started from his mouth, splashing onto her chest.

“Cursed…” The warg started, turning his head, just as a second arrow punched through his left eye, and out the back of his head. He collapsed on top of Harla, leaving the small bladed arrow-head inches from her nose. With a cry Harla fought the corpse off her, ignoring the pain as the beast’s failing knot pulled itself from her body. The gush of fluid that followed ran down her thighs, ignored, as Harla dove for her club, fury driving her.

A short distance away, a young hobbit was clutching a third arrow in one hand, unsure whether to put it back in her quiver or not. She was wearing a long green tunic, belted at the waist, which came down to her knees, and a plain shirt and leggings underneath. Light blonde hair was done in a pair of low pigtails at the back, which swayed slightly as she started to run towards the scene.

Harla saw none of this, however, struggling for a moment to free her club from her belongings before leaping back towards the body, a snarl of rage in her throat. Her club slammed down first on the creature’s head, breaking the skull with a crack, but she raised it and struck again, and again, shouting inarticulately with each swing. Next she focused on the beast’s groin, swinging her club with both hands in a flurry of over-head strikes. The cuts on her body were bleeding still, but she couldn’t feel the pain anymore, or anything else at all besides the blinding, bloody fury that held her. Her arms grew tired, but she didn’t stop, swinging until she could hear her club making messy clinks against the rock, with nothing left to strike at besides mangled fur, bone shards and pulp. Certainly nothing remained that could be identified as a warg.

As the blood rage drained away at last, Harla found herself shaking with sobs, her throat raw from shouting and her body aching from exhaustion and abuse. She looked up through bleary vision to see the other young girl standing a short distance from her, clutching her bow lengthwise in her hands, held up to her eyes as though she were trying to hide behind it. There was a look of apprehensive worry, shock and confusion in the girl’s eyes. Still trembling, Harla grabbed her pack and fled desperately into the night, clutching the shredded remnants of her clothing about her as she ran.

Still on her hands and knees, in the dust, Harla took a deep breath, then sat back on her heels, trying to stop the tears. She wasn’t back there any more, and she’d come a long way since then. That was what she needed to believe. She sniffed, pulling off one glove to wipe the back of a hand across her face, then scrub at it with her palm. Things could always have gotten worse, after all. It was just a scare this time, and she hadn’t been hurt at all, and that bastard Candac had likely gotten a fright fierce enough to set him right. It was the smell of the mangled carcass in the sun that eventually drove her to her feet. Wrinkling her nose she reclaimed her knife and did her best to clean both it and her club off before putting them away. A piece of the warg’s jaw close by caught her eye and she grimaced, kneeling down long enough to wrench the large canine free and slip it into a side pocket of her pack.
“Never again…” she muttered, and set out back towards the Forsaken Inn.

After the attack, she had fled desperately, without thought, until her body had given out, exhausted. She had felt so drained of everything that her thoughts had begun to clear again, at last, and she’d used the shredded remnants of her clothes to clean herself up and tend her injuries. They hadn’t scarred, thankfully, or left any mark at all once everything healed, though it had taken a while before everything felt right again, from the stretching in certain places. She had made her way the rest of the distance to Stock, in her panicked run, and stole some clothes off a laundry line left out overnight, before finally curling up to sleep just outside the town walls.

The next day she had made her way to her waterfall hideout, just to get away from everything else and think for a while, but even thinking about it made her feel ill. Her first instinct had been to go to Gammy about it, but she couldn’t, not this, it was too awful. How could she tell the old lady she’d been attacked and raped by a wild monster? It was just unthinkable, besides which she hadn’t felt like there could really be any comfort for it. Then there had been the problem of the girl. She must have been on night shift bounds duty, along the river. The girl had saved her life, she was certain of it, but at the same time… she’d seen what had happened; she knew.

It wasn’t the sort of thing even the best of intentions kept silent; word and rumour would spread, and soon more people would know. And it would grow, and change, and get itself all turned around, and people would jump to conclusion and exaggerate, and her reputation wouldn’t help. Soon the whole Shire would be whispering behind her back about how she liked to offer her body to wolves and other beasts, because she was crazed and monstrous, and her other indiscretions weren’t enough. And others would believe it, like they believed every other rumour about her that ever sprung up, until even people she thought she knew, and liked her, would be whispering and sniggering behind her back, and even where she could see and hear. Again.

There was no way she could stay, she’d decided eventually, not least because the whole Shire would become a constant reminder of the ordeal. It wasn’t like she had a home, really, or any belongings more than were in her pack. So she’d run away, to start a new life, where no one would know her name.

Harla sighed as she approached the Inn again. So here she was, doing a fantastic job of making friends. Right. The watchman by the door raised an eyebrow at her as she walked past, but didn’t speak. Inside, she looked around in time to see blonde hair darting for the stairs as Glynn Harper sought to be in any other room but the same one as her. She looked instead to Anlaf, at the bar. The look he gave her in return was confused, as though he wasn’t sure whether to be afraid or concerned. He turned his head slightly, still watching her.
“You alright, Miss?” The sound of his uncertainty made her pause. Of course, she was a mess. Her eyes felt sore and tired, they were probably red and blood-shot from her tears, and the rest of her probably didn’t look much better. She put one hand over her eyes, taking a breath and smoothing her face.
“I’m fine.” She spoke quietly now, hearing the tiredness in her own voice. “Look, did Brightwood make it back ok?” The other man nodded.
“Aye, he came back alright, running scared like a demon was after him, hardly able to string a coherent thought together. He said you saved him, and were going to kill him, and please could I hide him. He’s back in his room now, talking with Munce, and—” As Harla moved towards the stairway he darted out from behind the bar to block her path. “I really think you just ought to let them be, girl. There isn’t anything you can say or do short of violence that can possibly scare them or make them regret things any more than they already have, I promise. Just let them be.” Harla nodded and Anlaf returned to the bar visibly relieved that he wouldn’t need to make good on barring her way.

“It’s like I said; I’m here on business. Brightwood owes some things to a lady in Bree-town. I need to see she gets them, that’s all.”
“Ah! That makes more sense now.” Anlaf lifted a leather-wrapped bundle from behind the bar, setting it on the counter top. “He gave me this before running off to his room, said that it would cover his agreement with Lily, and to give it to ‘that demon’ to bring to her. I’m guessing he was meaning you there, Miss Harla.” He held the bundle out to her, and Harla took it, slipping it into her pack.
“I guess so.” She sighed. “Goodbye, Anlaf. Without meaning offence, I hope I’ve no need to come back here again.” The barkeeper wrung his hands, uneasy.
“Are you sure you’re alright, Miss? You seem… ill, somehow.” She shook her head.
“I’ve got a lot on my mind. And none of it good.” She turned to go, but Anlaf called out again as she made her way to the door.
“Miss Harla? Thankyou. Thankyou for taking care of that fool, and making sure he came back alive, despite everything else.” Harla paused, glancing back with a small smile.
“I’d hardly be worthy of this shield if I didn’t, would I?” Turning again, she reached for the door.

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