02.16.09 - Hidey Hole

There's a stirring from Magramba's tent, followed by a low groan. The squirrel is waking. Inside his head, a troupe of Swiss bellringers pound on his cranium. He sits up, pressing his face uncomfortably against the material, then lays back again.

Darcy's ears flick up and she presses the book shut, slipping it back into her satchel. Her fingers are smudged with charcoal as she twists, turning toward the tent opening. The flap is pushed aside a little and she peers in. "Morning Mister Mag. Except it's not really morning."

Magramba lifts his head, blinking at the face by his boots. "Did. We get 'im?"

"Ran him off," Darcy says with a nod, one hand against the ground, leaned into it and peering at him. "I caught him round the neck with the rope, Siv dug her thingy into his belly. He proved to be rather a fraidy cat, hah."

"Good." The squirrel lays his head back, gazing up at the tent. "How do I get out of this."

"It's a tent, not a strait jacket," Darcy says. "You just come out."

Darcy says, "Now, preferably. I need to fix you up now that you're awake."

Magramba crawls out of the tent, wincing. "Yeah..."

Darcy shifts over to give him room to sit by the fire outside the tent. "Gave you a check over while you were out, nothing too awful. No breaks or anything. He slung you pretty hard though."

"Through the armor? How'd you do that? My chest feels pretty awful." Mag indicates the horribly crumpled breastplate with an absent paw. An uneven cut on his head, probably from the tree, has coagulated.

"Tentative check over. I don't care of your ribs are broken, not much to be done for that anyway. Do they /feel/ broken, or just bruised?" Darcy asks.

"Well, nothings poking out. And there's not any weird nubs pressing against the armor." The squirrel feels the mangled steel. "Oohh no."

Darcy lifts her brows. "By the way? Your armor kind of resembles chewed-up celery."

"O-oh no no no..." Magramba sounds more than a bit distraught. He cradles his head in his paws. "Tell me you at least brought my sword back to camp."

"We haven't /moved/ Mag," Darcy points out, and gestures at their surroundings. "You're about five feet from where he chucked you."

Magramba lifts his head. "Oh." Bleary eyes turn to the doe. "So did you get it?"

"Your sword?" Darcy's brows lift. She looks faintly amused. "I used it to chop down a tree. And spear some fish for our supper. And then traded it to a nice passing hedgehog merchant for some beans. He said they were magic."

Magramba says, "Give me the beans."

"What, no." Darcy shoves one hand protectively into her pocket. "They're my beans, get your own."

"My sword, my beans. And I want some fish." The squirrel holds out both paws, some of the anxiety fading from his eyes.

Darcy scoops beans out of her pocket, drops them in his hands. Except they're really buttons and some lint. "There is no fish," she says with a smirk, "your sword's with your pack, and Siv is off hunting for our lost Number Four."

Magramba bounces the buttons up and down in his paw, sifting the lint out, and pockets them in his duster. "I think you said something about that already. So. 'My wounds.'" The squirrel manages to unclasp the breastplate himself, and pulls the crumpled form off.

The smirk spreads a little, and Darcy makes a gesture at Magramba, sort of up-and-down to indicate his body. "Well. Tell me where the 'owie' is."

Magramba shrugs off the duster and cape, and runs a cursory paw over his upper body. "Well..." The squirrel closes his eyes, takes a deep breath. "There's a general throbbing across my entire right side and back." The paw ferrets out a few holes in the tunic. "The mace went through my armor in a few spots, it's scabbed over now."

Darcy shifts onto her knees, watching, her hands dropped on her thighs. "Take a deep, slow breath," she instructs, eyes narrowed with concentration. "Tell me if you feel any sharp pain as your chest expands."

"So breathe in my chest." Magramba takes breathes in sloooowly, then lets it out. "No, nothing sharp. Just intensifies."

"Good. You're just bruised, no broken ribs," Darcy says. "I'll clean up your cuts and whatever and give you a painkiller if you think you need it."

Magramba shakes his head, gesturing dismissively with one paw. "I'll be fine, we should save the supplies." The squirrel steps forward, stops. "Where's my stuff?"

Darcy shrugs, not arguing this. She gestures to a nearby tree with Magramba's pack and sword leaned against it. "There."

"Ah." Mag marches over, collects his things, and heads back to the tent. The squirrel flops down unceremoniously beside Darcy, pulling his armor over with a footpaw. "Harper's still behind?"

"Harper's learned a vanishing trick," Darcy mutters. ".. and put it to good use."

"That's no good." Magramba is inspecting his armor, and it's unclear whether he's talking about it or Harper. "It's dead weight now."

"Like I said," the doe mutters, standing up, wandering off a half-dozen steps. It's getting dark now. She looks through the trees, frowning a little. ".. chewed celery."

Magramba presses his lips into a frown. "Shame." It's set aside. "I can keep the vambraces, but the fauld's done too..." This is busily removed, and set with the breastplate. The squirrel puts his other clothes back on. "Still not back?"

Darcy isn't paying attention to Magramba and his armor, she's looking off into the woods. One hand is lifted and she nibbles the edge of her sleeve. "Yeah," she mutters, "still not back. Pardon me if I care less for your shiny outfit than I do for my friends." Grumble.

"Uh. Who said I was talking to you." Magramba looks off in the same direction, bending to gather his pack and sword. "That the way they went?"

Darcy glances back. "What were you talking to, your shiny-suit? .. that's the way Siv went. Harper didn't so much 'go' as.. Nnh."

Magramba rolls his eyes, ramming his sword back in its place. "I'm going after them. Y'want to come?"

Darcy blinks a little, turning, peering at the squirrel. "It's getting dark. ... this is /really/ not a good idea."

"Since when has that stopped us." Magramba finds a handy fallen limb, and cleans the smaller stuff off it, leaving him with a big, thick stick. "Can you say 'torch?'"

"... you have a point," Darcy mutters, watching him. She sighs, and goes for her satchel, slinging the strap across her chest and attaching her dirk to her belt again. "Just do me a favor? Don't /you/ disappear also."

"Are you kidding? You, alone, in the woods has too much potential for disaster." Magramba plucks a shredded piece of his cape from the forest floor, wraps it about the tip of the stick. "See how well things are going? We're supposed to go."

"We're all just.. going to die, aren't we," Darcy muses.

"That was more likely yesterday." Flint scrapes on the fallen armor, sparking the torch into half-life. "As soon as I get this going..."

"Yeah. Just light it from the fire," Darcysays with a smirk, gesturing at the small campfire. She then turns and heads off into the woods.

"Or... That." It only takes a few seconds to have the torch blazing. Magramba catches up to Darcy as quick as he can without extinguishing the torch.

Darcy's ears are angled upward as she heads into the woods, hands in her pockets, her pace a little brisk. "Let's not get lost either, please," she mutters.

Magramba swirls his cape about a bit, enjoying the freedom of movement. "Not to worry, fate has gifted me with an innate sense of direction." His ears prick up, tuned to the forest.

Darcy lifts her brows, and chuckles at him. "Me too. I'm fairly good at knowing which way is 'up'. ... stop swirling, you look like someone auditioning for the role of Slagar."

"But do I look like someone who got the part?" Magramba lifts the torch a little higher as darkness begins to close more rapidly.

"Not even," Darcy about drawls. Her eyes skim upward, toward the deep blue slices of visible sky, and then her attention is forward again. "So, please consult your innate sense of direction and ask it to lead us to Harper and Siv - please?"

"Not even," Darcy about drawls. Her eyes skim upward, toward the deep blue slices of visible sky, and then her attention is forward again. "So, please consult your innate sense of direction and ask it to lead us to Harper and Siv - please?"

Magramba says, "It's more of a compass than a homing system. And sometimes it gets thrown off by my internal clock."

"Well I don't care if it's a clock or a compass or just your intestines," Darcy mutters, giving a light shove against the squirrel and then ducking a low branch.

Magramba /would/ have ducked it, but people are shoving. /Thwack!/ "Ow! Oh, ow! Darcy! Stop, we need to find my eyeball..." Luckily, the squirrel held on to the torch, and the forest isn't ablaze.

"Plenty of beasts function fine with just one eye," Darcy chuckles. "Zoe Lang. Zade. You're one of them now!"

Darcy adds, "Harper if he doesn't get /back/ here..."

Magramba snickers as he rubs at his eye. "No, I think it's still in there." Blinking, the squirrel checks the torch in his paw. "I just had a thought. What about the fire?"

"It somehow manages to catch on all the plentiful dry wood that's nowhere in sight, and the forest catches," Darcy says with a shrug, going onward. "... and our trip is made at least a little warmer if nothing else. Heh."

Magramba catches up with the doe again. "I guess you're right."

Darcy says, "I am. I always am."

Magramba says, "That's right, I'd forgotten."

"You should get that checked out," Darcy mutters, peering into the woods. Daaark. She steps over a log, one hand against a tree for balance as she does so. "Watch that there Mag. .. but seriously. How to you forget something like that? That's like forgetting how to breathe."

A faint but unmistakable drawl comes from a distance away, off to Magramba and Darcy's left. "Well, that was.. /interesting./" The word has a certain inflection to it.

"'Interesting'. That is not the word. It is not even. In the same." Silence. "Not even."

Darcy's ears shoot up. "Harp!" She stops, turns. It's too dark to see them.

Even with Magramba's torch; he's sort of located in the opposite direction of their voices.

"It'll have to do. I don't even /have/ a word for.. for.. that. That was.." A pause, and the sound of footsteps. "They're this way. Careful - there's a root." Another pause. "/What sort/ of belief system thinks a pregnant mouse with a polearm means the end of the world?"

Silence. And then. "Darcy!" There's about a boatload of relief packed into that one little word. And then, lower, kind of muttered. "... The kind that puts me as its Spirit Guide? King... thing? What /was/ that?" Harper's voice manages to grimace, somehow. It drips with grimace. "I /smell/ like them." A long pause. "Do you know what they eat? Crickets! Crickets! And flies." A brief beat. "I ate the flies."

Root. Darcy trips over that root in her little stumbling lunge toward the pair. "Nnf!" Crash. ".. hello, Mister Shrub. Mag, aim that torch toward /them/ please." When the squirrel does so it illuminated the area, showing Darcy sort of sprawled sideways in a bush, getting up, looking at Sivaine and Harper questioningly. "... and I lasso'd a wildcat. Hi. Are you okay..?" She dusts herself off and steps toward Harper.

"There's food back at the campsite. You can wash down that taste and just.. wash," Sivaine is saying with a rather sympathetic look at Harper when the light shines their way. She squints at Darcy, pupils contracting. The mouse looks a bit.. damp, and her halberd glints in the torchlight. Her relief is palpable. "Darcy. The.. negotiations took a while."

Harper looks all right. He looks... wet. And kind of cold. And he smells. But he's definitely okay. He's wearing a some sort of necklace. A length of twine with several smooth river stones stringed on it. There's also something on his head that might have been a crown. But its melted. And its scummy. Uh. "... I'm fine. A wildcat? Are /you/?" He just snorts at mention of the negotiation.

Sivaine says, "It fell on her. This is the /strangest/ trip I've ever been on."

"Apparently I look like easy prey," Darcy mutters. She steps forward and hugs Harper gingerly around the middle. "... uck, what. You're wet." Still hugging though.

"And smelly." Harp sounds so grossed out. "'Ey, Mag." His arms come around, hugging back just as gently.

Darcy cringes a little. "Ow, ow. Light hug, /light/ hug Harp."

Short ears, then a short muzzle come around a tree, nosily. Then they peek back behind that tree, much more quickly than they peeked out. And then they come out again.

Sivaine nods to Magramba, cracking a tiny tired half-smile. "Good to see you're up," she remarks, sort of off to the side of the happy reuinioning.

Magramba steps a bit off to the side of the hare-hug, torch thrust out thataway to give them some light. "Apparently the armor did its job. But for the last time." There's a hint of regret in his voice, but he manages to give her a smile of equal enthusiasm.

Harper's arms lift away, with a worried little noise. "Just sore, or-?" And he looks around at all of them. "Is /everyone/ all righ'?" He sounds a little put-out. He keeps missing these things, somehow.

Darcy squeezes one eye shut, eyeing Harper's expression with her face tilted up. "Bruised ribs, some .. scratches. I mean he wanted to /eat/ me, I'm not joking. And Mag's armor. Heh." Wince. Her hand comes over her side.

Quickly, the head peeks out from behind the tree, then darts back in. And then the rest of the body comes out, though the bearer isn't appearing sneaky at all. He's rather grinny, and a vole. "Evening, good evening sirs and madams, good evening to all!" He'd be shouting if he wasn't... whispering.

Sivaine wrinkles her nose. "Sorry. It looked like a nice set." She looks Harper and Darcy's way and twitches a fold of her cloak into a better position. "Tell you about it at the campfire?" she suggests. "You're still we- eh." Sivaine quirks a brow at the vole, grip shifting on her polearm. "Evening to you," she nods, scrutinizing this newcomer.

Magramba already has a bit of his sword clear of the sheath. The torch /swooshes/ through the air to shed more light on the vole.

Harper is not as twitch as Siv or Magramba, despite his recent kidnapping and stint as Frog King! He looks around, eyebrows shooting up. "... Uh. 'Llo," he greets!

Darcy blinks and gives the vole a sort of disgruntled look. "Oh now what." She reaches up to disentangle the .. thing .. from Harper's head. What. "Ew."

Squeak! The vole sees the torch wave through the air, along with all the weapons suddenly glinting in his direction, and darts behind a tree again, peeking out from behind it. "Sirs, madams. Madams and sirs, I assure you I mean no harm and if you would just allow me a moment to speak I would think you would be receptive to my offer!"

Sivaine glances briefly at Magramba, a brow quirked. "Offer?" she asks the vole, ears up and alert. The woods are a black morass, her night vision gone in the circle of torchlight. "We're not buying anything."

Harper looks upward, watching as Darcy removes the. Thing. Ewyuck. But then his eyes fall back to the vole again. "Offer? What sort of offer?"

Magramba rolls his eyes at Sivaine and makes a show of sliding his sword the whole way in. "After the whole cat thing, it's understandable..." Murmur.

"No, leave it out," Sivaine mutters near inaudibly.

"Ah, madam, and I do not wish to sell you anything! Unless, of course, sirs and madams, you consider a meal and a roof for the night my wares and the pleasure of some company your currency. That would indeed be a rare currency around this area, at least for me." The vole comes out from behind the tree again, tentatively, watching the torch and weaponry carefully, his own paws up. "I venture I could move to a locale with more friendly creatures, but I'm afraid I don't venture too far from the safety of my home." He's still kind of whispering.

Darcy flicks it off into the woods, away from them. Bye-bye Frog Crown. Her attention is now on the vole. "... are you serious. No bugs? Rotting houses? Rabid felines?"

Magramba /would/ thumb his sword back out a bit, but. Torch and all. A look of thoughtful dislike goes to the little orb'o'combustion. "So how'd you end up out here anyway, if you're so scared of this place?"

Harper's eyebrows go up, curiously. He then glances around at the small fellowship. And then back to the vole. "Would you mind giving us a moment to talk it over? What was your name, again?"

"A legitimate query, and I suppose you may or may not be satisfied with its response. You see, I've become quite the nocturnal vole. I believe it's safer that way, especially if you've memorized the area and where to get the berries and herbs I use as supplies." The vole smiles cheerily, though his voice doesn't lift too far above a rasp. "The name? My name is Garba Seymour Paramour Moragar, pleased to make your acquaintance, sirs and madams."

".. Paramour," Darcy muses. "That's actually a rather clever middle name. Uhm." Glance at Harper. One of her ears is bent downward in the middle. "He's not particularly ferocious or anything..."

/Paramour./ Sivaine's muzzle twitches, but she doesn't say anything. "It would mean dismantling camp," she points out to the other three. "If we're up to that."

"It was hardly mantled to begin with," Darcy points out.

"I think we could manage it," Harper muses.

Darcy looks over at Garba. "Is there a bed? Or. Something even remotely cushiony?"

Garba looks crestfallen when Sivaine seems to be leaning towards 'no,' but he starts nodding more and more furiously as Darcy and Harper work towards agreement. "Yes, yes yes there are beds, multiple beds, beds for the madams and sirs. Beds and a comfortable chair and a cushioned couch and... Well, I'm afraid two will have to share a bed, but the bed is large enough to share!"

"So!" There's now a grin across Darcy's face. "Let's get to the dismantling, yeah?"

Sivaine narrows her eyes a fraction, considering. "Multiple beds?" she asks quietly, curling her fingers around the square shaft of her halberd.

Harper's brow quirks. How very curious. "Well... thank you, Sir. Garba. We appreciate it. Please let us know if there's anything we can do to repay your kindness. Darcy and I, here, have skill in the healing arts, for instance, and Sivaine is a storyteller. A few of us can sing." You know, standard traveler's currency!

"And Mag is just baggage," Darcy snickers, aiming back in the direction of their camp. She stumbles, regains her balance, and stops with one foot on a stone, looking over toward the others. "Well come /on/. The sooner we pack up again the sooner I can sleep somewhere comfortable!"

"Multiple beds, yes." Garba smiles encouragingly to Sivaine. "It's only a little walk from here and I could show you the way, no torch needed! It's very safe, nobeast who would harm me knows about it. It is very spacious and-- oh my, I do hope I'm not sounding overly eager? It's just that the possibility of friendly company is so sparse that when some comes along I try to be as helpful as possible for it. Do you need help breaking camp?"

Technically Harper didn't /make/ camp, so he doesn't really have anything to break.. "... You know, Darcy, some folks actually like sleeping out under the stars." He chuckles. Then glances at Siv. Askance.

"Eh, we did that already," Darcy mutters. "Oh wait, no. No. That was hail."

"So spacious, so many beds - who lives with you?" Sivaine asks, canting her head slightly to the side. "No torch needed," she mutters under her breath.

"Nobeast! Nobeast, sadly." Garba shakes his head. "All my little voles have grown up and left me and I'm left all by my lonesome. The home's too nice to just get up and leave, and it's very safe and I'm hesitant to leave. So I stay!" The vole smiles at the mouse, though with a little less intensity. "Do I sense some ill feelings towards me? I'm sorry if I have offended you madams and sirs; I do not get the chance to talk to another very often and I fear that my manners may have been left by the wayside."

Darcy's gaze flicks from Garba to Harper, and her brows lift. "Bed today, stars tomorrow?" Tiny little smile. Please please.

Harper rubs a paw up and down over his face. "... Look. I'm one for cautious, but I say if he has some sort of place I can wash up that isn't a stream..." He looks from Darcy, who seems to agree with him, to Siv.

"Mnh." Sivaine shakes her head as if to clear it, looking faintly annoyed. Or tired. "No, not at all. Your pardon," she speaks, inclining her head politely. "It's a generous offer you make, and I think we'll gladly accept it as a whole."

Garba almost jumps out of his fur, and his voice raises out of rasp mode for an exclamation of happy. "Oh!" Delighted! "Good, good. Now if you'll just follow me, it's right this way. Do not worry about the torch, I can find it well enough. Having light might actually misguide me, I'm so used to finding my way around at night." And off he walks at a leisurely, easy pace for the group to follow. "Like I said before I've become nocturnal to a point. There's a stew cooking on a fire for when we get there. I usually make more than enough for myself, but I'm afraid I hadn't quite expected food for five so I'll have to work on preparing something else as well..." Chat chat chat chat chat.

Darcy tilts her head. Garba is going one direction and their disheveled little camp is in another. "Uh."

Harper has his pack already! But he starts jogging towards the small camp. "I'll catch up! Just don't get too far ahead. I don't want to revisit Kingship." And he's heading for the small camp.

".. am I. What. Who am I going with," Darcy mutters.

"With them!" Harper shouts back.

"But I just /found/ you again!" the doe retorts.

There's no response to that.

Darcy grumbles, and glances at Garba - then heads after him, leaving Harper to get together whatever's been left at the camp.

It really isn't long until they arrive. Garba crouches down and lifts up... A tree stump? And shoves it off to the side. Ten feet or so off to one side there's a little plume of smoke coming from the ground, but that's probably really hard to see in the cover of night. He manages to lift the tree stump and slide it off to the side, leaving a hole, which he... Drops in! There's a ladder though, and he climbs down. "Hurry, hurry, last one in pull the stump back in place please! I absolutely /cannot/ have vermin discovering me or else I fear they may take my home!"

Harper has taken up the lead of the group, and so he is the first to peer into the tunnel after the vole. He glances back at the others, then goes to climb down the ladder.

Darcy follows Harper, squinting downward as she does to be sure she doesn't like.. step on his head or something. "... this is adorable. Harp? Get me a hidey-hole of my very own?"

Sivaine lets Magramba go before her - after all, she has a six-foot pole to maneuver, and she feeds this carefully down the hole with the squirrel's help before climbing in the hole herself, tugging the tree stump back into place with a grunt or two. Then she's descending herself, bunching her cloak up over one arm as she climbs.

When they get to the bottom of the (Rather long!) ladder, the group might turn around and go a little slack-jawed. This place is remarkable. Aside from the fact that it's underground and the obvious cons that come with that, it's quite homey, comfy even. The main room appears to be a kitchen/dining room with little caverns coming off the sides of that main room, probably leading to bedrooms, storage space... The oven is dug into the wall and sports a fire and a pot over it-- apparently there's some sort of chimney system 'cause the place isn't full of smoke. Trusses and beams support the wood ceiling, and really the place is fantastic! "Feel free to make yourselves comfortable, sirs and madams. I'll see what I can do to get some more food..." He trails off and disappears down one of the caverns, mumbling about something or the other all the while.

Harper is the first slack-jawed idiot. His ears have folded back and he just kind of. Stands. At the bottom of the ladder. He's going to get a foot in the face pretty soon. "Look." is all he says.

Darcy steps off the ladder and bumps right into Harper, who has not moved for some unbeknownst reason. "Hey," she gruffs at him, applying a hand to the middle of her friend's chest, pushing him backward. Then, ".. wow."

Amazingly, no one gets sliced or impaled despite the bottleneck at the bottom of the ladder. Sivaine eyes the pointy end of her halberd cautiously as she step down the last few rungs, and.. blinks. "What is this," she murmurs under her breath, gaze roving over the living space.

Darcy says, "I want one."

Sivaine says, "Make nice with some moles."

"This is..." Harper looks around, stepping a few paces into the room. "It's amazing. If the /mountain/ looked like this? Say goodbye to the bloody habit." The buck laughs.

Darcy glances up at Harper, then back around the burrow-dwelling-thing. "I. Don't.. I'm not even hungry. I just want a bed. Where are the beds? I want the /biggest/ coziest .. bed. Ever. Please."

Garba comes back from the store room with some more supplies! Some dry food, mostly, to go with the apparent stew that's cooking. "I hope you don't find my home too uncomfortable..." He kind of grins and huffs out a near-embarrassed laugh at the sound of the wandering travelers. "Thank you, we did have some mole friends who helped us build this home. As nice as it is, I long for the days when I could spend entire afternoons up on the surface..." He gazes off wistfully. "Oh, but nevermind that, you are probably hungry and tired..." So he scrounges up some bowls, plates, and spoons, all of relatively good craftsmanship. Garba did make a lot of food. "Please, have some stew before you sleep. It'll be cold in the morning and if you don't eat now I'm sure you'll wake up quite hungry."

Harper gestures for the women to go first. "Ladies first," the buck offers. Grins.

"But. But. Cushions, blankets. Pillows!" Darcy is distracted by this much-long-for luxury and wanders into one of the bedrooms. Flutters, almost!

"What changed?" Sivaine asks. She sounds a little distant. The steps she takes away from the base of the ladder are hesitant, even cautious, as if she fears trespass despite the effusive welcome. Her whiskers twitch at the scent of warm cooking, paws creeping up to the straps of her pack.

"Mm?" Harper queries of Sivaine. Well, if they're not going to have something to eat! He walks over go Garba. Serves himself up a little something - but not before looking askance at the vole, for permission.

Garba smiles. "Make yourself comfortable," he offers to Darcy. "I'll bring you some food in if it's served and you haven't joined us yet." And with that he rubs his paws together, working on distributing some bread and some pasties, the latter of the two obviously of the kind that lasts a while, not fresh, but still. "Take as much as you like," he offers again, helpfully, amicably.

Darcy emerges, and looks kind of dreamy-eyed. "... I want that one," she says, gesturing over her shoulder into the room. "That one. Harp. I'm not joking. I expect a hidey-hole for my birthday or something." She heads over, setting down her bag, going to collect herself a plate of food and bowl of stew.

"No, I meant-" Sivaine gestures to Garba as she trails over, taking food as it's distributed. The aged quality of the food doesn't seem to bother her, but she looks rather taken aback by it all still. "What changed?" she asks the vole, slipping her pack off her shoulders.

Garba hms? "I'm not sure what you mean, Madam...? What do you mean why I can't spend all my time on the surface anymore?" Looking rather forlorn, the vole sighs. "It's the vermin. More and more of them are in this area and all of them seem to cause nothing but trouble. They chased a good amount of beasts away from here, so it's practically overrun. It's a shame, really."

Harper finds himself a seat. And sits! He doesn't wait on the others before digging in. He pauses between mouthfuls. "If I dig you a ditch 'n' throw a bedroll in it? Good enough?" His muzzle twitches.

"Hah! Not likely," Darcy mutters, and sprawls backwards onto a sofa. Her feet kick up on the arm of it and her back is against a few cushions. "I want it to at least be enough to tempt me away from the austere life of the Abbey Sister." Oh how ironic she is.