Murder and a Chance Encounter.
Mossflower - Dirt Road ---------------------------
Southward, the imposing silhouette of Redwall Abbey is framed against the
sky. The sun's gentle glow bathes the Abbey in a nearly angelic
halo, and the pale crimson of the walls is seen clearly even from such a
distance. Casting a broad shadow on the ground, the Abbey walls rise up,
strong and solid. The road is nearly dwarfed by the structure, as is the
smaller building to the north. Flanking the road, a few scattered trees,
white with snow, offer the transition from the northern forests to the
western grasslands.
It's cold, it's getting dark, and a fog is starting to drift in, coating everything in a thin layer of mist that slicks the fur of anybeast who happens to touch it down. Needless to say, Tracker is absolutely miserable, the fox having been separated from his troupe after they made a quick departure from the last town they performed in. Apparently woodlanders didn't appreciate their very skewed version of Slagar's abduction of the abbeybabes! Tracker, having been napping while waiting for his cue to come onto the makeshift stage, was forgotten and left behind, and is now having to play a game of catch up. In fact, the fox is still dressed in the robes of Malkariss rat, since there weren't enough rats in the troupe to play them all. He grumbles to himself as he trips over the hem of the oversized robe, wishing that they'd had a set of robes for beasts who hadn't yet seen their tenth season, and he's not truly watching where he's going. He's far too busy feeling sorry for himself for that!
There's nothing quite so terribly as being caught outdoors and alone in the dark, especially when it's cold. These factors have driven Asha to quicken her march south, her feet racing one another as she pushes on into the gathering mist. Her journey has been solitary so far, and since departing the Northlands she's scarcely seen another beast on the road besides a handful of vermin patrolling a path on the south side of the bridge. Weeks without a proper roof over her head might have tempted her to take the path, just on the off chance a village lay beyond, but the presence of vermin dissuaded her, and she kept her course south. The further she travels, the thicker the fog grows, until by the time she nears the lost performer she can barely make out his form at a distance.
Tracker's looking down at his feet at this point, still chunnering to himself, still kicking at clods of dirt on the ground, looking at exactly the worst possible place at the worst possible time. His pace quickens along the road, eager to get to where he's going as quickly as possible, even if he has no idea where that place actually is, and he's soon nearly jogging, his bushy tail bobbing along behind him. The distance between himself and the otter closes quickly, until he crashes into her, barreling into her and letting out a loud yelp as he does so.
The sharp chirp of a cricket draws Asha's gaze just long enough that by the time she refocuses on the fox, he's already upon her. She manages a harsh yell before the impact, and she and the performer are sent sprawling backwards. The sight of a bushy red tail flashes before her during the brief tumble, and when they both come to a stop, Asha mind registers exactly /what/ she's run into. A cry caught somewhere between surprise and anger escapes her lips, and almost immediately the otter scrambles on all fours away from him. When she straightens up a few feet from the fox, her expression is livid. "What in hell's-teeth do you think you're doing!?" She yells, paw already raised to grasp the hilt of her messer.
The crash has somewhat stunned the fox, and he sits there on his rump, looking dumbly at the otter for a moment before he scrabbles to his feet, glaring daggers at her. Clearly he's /not/ in the mood for any nonsense from some ridiculous otter while he's lost in Mossflower! His hood has fallen, showing just how young he is. He can't be more than 8 or 9 seasons. He snaps at the otter. "Watch where yer goin', waterdog! Cor! Yer a brainless thing, not lookin' where yer goin'!" There's a scabbard at the fox's hip, but he doesn't seem to be reaching for it, spending quite a lot of time trying to dust himself off and refluff his mist-soaked tail. It's not working very well.
The fox's outburst does little more than to inflame Asha's temper. Running into a vermin is bad enough, but a fox of all beasts? If the cold and dampness had been enough to annoy the otter before, it's nothing compared to the the abhorrence that sparks in her chest. "Watch where I'm goin'? You ran inta' me, ya useless wretch!" She shouts back at him. Despite her anger, Asha keeps her swords in its scabbard. As much as slaying the fox would please her, she's not likely to pull a blade on beast who's just entering his prime. Unless of course, the fox sees fit not to beg her forgiveness and take his leave...
Useless?! That hurt! Not only has Tracker been feeling particularly useless already due to being lost, but being called out as such makes him think of all the bit parts his troupe has been making him do lately. His mood is not improved by this, and if anything it grows far worse, and what's more he's emboldened by the otter's reluctance to draw her sword. /Clearly/ this means she's a pushover who'll do nothing more than shout and insult! "Hey! Don't blame me 'cuz ye can't move in a straight line on dry land! Why don't ye just get outta me way and go swim in some mudhole?!" Clearly the fox is too angry to realize what trouble he's causing for himself.
Clearly the fox has no intention of leaving Asha be, and his insults, particularly that bit about swimming in a mudhole, give water to the seeds of hate planted in the otter's mind. "Look here, scum... you're the thick'ead who ran inta' me, I done nothin' to your sorry self! And lest you clear off this instant, we're goin' to have a serious problem on our 'ands... do ye understand, slybeast?!" Her final insult is punctuated by a glob of spit, sent precisely towards the fox's muzzle.
Plop! The gob of spit lands right on the fox's nose, and he lets out a squeak of disgust as he frantically tries to wipe it away, the vulpine scrubbing at his nose with the sleeve of his robe. Tracker stands there, stunned for the second time that day, as he tries to think of something appropriately nasty to call the otter. "Ye.... ye... yer the one at fault, ye... grubby, moldy... um... hairy, overgrown greyling!" A good bit more pauses in there than he'd like, but the insult will have to do!
The continued insults, the bone chilling mist, the fading sunlight... all of these combined are enough to push Asha past the point of rational thought. Would it be easy to just walk away? To leave the vulpine to his own wits and continue along her path? Yes, it would be easy, but such an easy solution is beyond Asha's reach now. Her experiences in the North come rushing back at the sight of this disgusting little creature. Being unable to run from the foxes surrounding her... armed with sharpened knives and hot brands... the pain and hatred that coursed through her as the questions went on and on... those images flash through her mind as Asha's sword comes free of its scabbard, and without warning her foot aims a hefty kick at the fox's chest. The otter's eyes are livid.
Seeing that Asha seems to be at a loss for words, the fox folds his arms and a sneer of triumph alights on his face, and he's sure that he's the victor of this argument. His mood is already starting to improve at having shown and uppity woodlander what's-what, and no doubt he'll be able to tell this story later to someone in his troupe and get a good laugh. /That/ will prove that he's not just some clutz who's always biting off more than he can chew! Then the foot slams into his chest, knocking the wind from the fox and causing a rib to gain a hairline fracture. He falls to his back and lets out a groan of pain as he writhes on the ground, clutching his chest where the otter delivered her blow.
Whatever sense of triumph she might feel from the sight of the writhing fox just serves to fuel the burning in Asha's veins. She stands for a moment, staring down at him with pitiless eyes and an expression of mixed disgust and loathing. "You should have begged my pardon an run, wretch..." Despite her apparent rage, the otter's voice is quiet, just loud enough to carry to the fox's ears. She paces around him slowly, messer held with both paws as and eyes searching for any sudden movements. Foxes aren't renowned for their cunning for not good reason, right?
From down the road comes the soft crunch of footpaws and the low murmur of voices. The shadowy form of a squirrel and her long-eared companion can be seen as they meander down the road probably on some sort of late evening patrol. The fog whirls and spins around them as they proceed and Amarro can see her breath in the air. The tall squirrel has her paws clasped behind her back and is strolling somewhat leisurely as she converses with her friend. "...if they do it right." She completes a sentence of unknown origin and continues forward in silence waiting for Rue's response. No notice is given of the scuffle ahead of them. Doubtless she cannot see it yet.
If Amarro cannot see the scene before them yet, doubtless Rue can't either, with her one eye. A paw is rested leisurely on the hilt of her sword, which clinks softly with each alternate step. The other paw is attending the doe's headfur almost constantly, the moisture of the surrounding air causing it to scrunch into even tighter waves, and she tucks one lock after another back into the mess of her bun, strands coming loose almost at the same pace. "Well, tha opportunity must nae present itself often then. I know even very few grown beasts who can put their minds ta a task propahly, wot. Though they cannae be blamed themselves, these Abbeybeasts, most o' 'em are hardly big enough ta pluck one from tha ground. " In this thick fog, even her rough contralto bark is swallowed up in the air immediately surrounding them.
Tracker is absolutely terrified by now. He hadn't expected to be hit like this, least of all by a woodlander, and to him the attack came absolutely without warning. The words that land on his ears fill his head with confusion and fear; was he going to die just for being a loudmouthed brat? No, that can't be how his life would end, could it? He lets out a sort of strange whimper, then pulls himself to his feet, starting to back away from the otter. Seemingly remembering the scabbard at his hip, the fox's paw darts down to the hilt of the short sword, though he doesn't draw. "S-stay back! 'M armed! J-j-just lemme go!" He tries to backpedal away from the otter, but only succeeds in stumbling, nearly falling down for a second time.
"You had the chance 'ta leave, fox! I'm not givin' you a second!" She stalks in his wake, sword tilted threateningly at his chest. Pace for pace she keeps up with him, waiting from some unseen que to strike, and then he stumbles. Her paws fly up and around her head quickly, rotating the blade into a position for a downward slice towards the fox, this one aimed at his left shoulder.
"Soft. The lot of them." Amarro nods in agreement to Rue's statement about the size and capability of the Redwall dibbuns. "When I was younger we all knew how to properly hold a rapier. If we didn't take to sword play, then we knew the ins and outs of a bow." There is only a small about of braggadocio in the squirrel's statement and she shrugs. "But I suppose you cannot begrudge them their childhood. In some ways I am envious of them." As they draw closer to the otter and the fox, Amarro notices something odd going on in the roadway and her pace slows, paws falling to her sides in preparation for whatever may lie ahead.
"Bein' a leveret is one thing," Apparently Rue's definition of leveret encompasses all species. "Bein' a babe what cannae rough it on ya own is anothah entirely." Rue punctuates this cold bit of advice with a swig of hard liquor stolen from a flask which she draws out of the confines of her coat. There is an envious edge to her voice as well, in addition to some sort of bitterness, its source impossible to scry. Luckily the hare flanks the squirrel's left, so when Amarro halts, she does so as well. The only noise from the pair is the soft glug of fluid as she rights her flask, and caps it.
Fortunately, Tracker sees the swipe at his shoulder and in his panic completes his fall, receiving a vicious gouge in the left shoulder that snaps his collarbone and carves downwards, rather than his arm being fully lopped off. He lets out a bloodcurdling shriek that'll no doubt carry for a great distance, even in the thickening fog, and he falls to the ground. Without the use of his left arm, which now dangles uselessly at his side, and with his right paw clutching in panic at the bleeding chasm Asha's sword caused, the fox falls down once more, writhing pitifully on the ground, his short sword utterly forgotten. He looks up at the otter standing over him and whimpers out, his voice small and meek now, as opposed to the formerly boisterous and belligerant tone from before, "P-please... please don't hurt me! I'm sorry! I'm sorry! I don't wanna die!" Tears of pure fear start to run down his cheeks, the fox realizing that he's utterly helpless.
Asha's ears are deaf to the fox's cries, her mind clouded by hatred and blood lust. Yanking the sword back around, she sidesteps the fox, all the better to get a clear swing at his neck. With a small scream of fury she brings the sword crashing down, the blade directed towards where the neck connects with the skull. No hints of remorse of pity are to be found in her eyes... just darkness and fury at the sight of the helpless fox beneath her.
Amarro takes off at a sprint when she hears the terrified scream, flying through the fog, drawing her rapier as she goes. The scene in front of her is chaotic and she doesn't take a whole lot of time to understand it - the knowledge that one beast has drawn a weapon on another and is actively in the process of killing him is quite enough information for her to act upon. "Halt!" She shouts as she races towards them.
Rue follows close on Amarro's heels, her flask stowed and blade drawn in a trice. But as the forms of otter and fox come into view, she hangs back. Some less enlightened beasts might call it cowardice, but Rue calls it pragmatism. She's not one for bursting into frays headstrong. No, it's far too easy to be caught unawares that way. Instead she begins to grapevine, weaving a slow circle around the scene, just far enough that her silhouette may seem like nothing but a silky shadow, perhaps a spectre, until she is roughly in the area behind Tracker.
As Asha sidesteps the fox, he has more than enough time to realize that she's going to kill him despite his pleas, his voice growing louder now as he panics, his paws flying up as though he's going to stop the blow with them. He's outright sobbing now, his cheek fur damp, and he tries to beg once more, "No! No, please! Don't-" His words are cut off suddenly by the falling of the blade, the blade making contact with his neck right on the mark it was aimed for, and, with a vile sounding snap, Tracker's head is removed from his body, the fox's short life ending abruptly at the otter's paw.
Her breath coming in slow heaves, tight jawed and white knuckled, Asha stares down at the corpse she's created. Is it pity or guilt she feels? No, to Asha this equates to justice; recompense to whatever wrongs have been committed in the past. Withdrawing her blade from the dead beast's wound, she holds it up to the fading light, all the better to glimpse the sheen of crimson coated steel, and then she notices the two beast racing towards her. She notes the exaggerated ears of a hare, the bushy tail of a squirrel, both of which are enough to reassure that the new comers are both woodlanders. For a scarce moment she feels a sharp pang of panic. Did they perhaps see? Or, as any proper woodlander should, would they so much as care over the death of one measly fox? Whatever the answer, her mind stands ready to spin the situation in whatever direction she deems necessary to benefit herself.
Amarro draws up to the scene breathing heavily but weapon still held steady in front of her as she glances around. "What's going on here?" She takes a careful step away from the bloody head and looks from it to the body of the dead fox before her gaze goes back to the sea otter. In most other circumstances Amarro would've attacked first and asked questions later but this is a woody that has just killed a vermin. That makes this...different. "What'd he do?"
Even after the fighting is over, the doe prefers to remain where she can be seen the least. She is careful to skirt the pair of beasts now talking, and bends to kneel where Amarro sidestepped. Rue lays her sword carefully on the ground beside her. She is often quiet, but this is a new silence, an intense silence. Not that those conversing would notice. Her paws take a hold of the skull gingerly, and turn it about until it's blank, moon-eyed visage faces her own. Once she inspects the head's features, she scoffs, tucks it under her elbow, and retrieves her sword. "Well, tha cur's certainly dead, wot."
While the hare’s antics certainly do not go unappreciated by the sea otter, it’s the squirrel that garners Asha’s attention. “Damned brigand!” She exclaims without so much as a second thought to her answer. “Thought he’d get clever and demand I give ‘im my goods. Idiot…” She spits on the corpse, and kneeling down next to him drags both sides of her blade against his clothing, trying to clean at least some of the blood from her sword. While she appears cool and collected on the outside, inside the sea otter is well aware of the potential risks involved with having nearly been witnessed a cold blooded kill, so she continues before the others can have a chance to query her further. “Thought I’d be a right milkdrinker, ‘e did. Show’d some steel out o’ his scabbard, like I was supposed to drop my stuff and run at the sight of it! He didn’t even get it drawn ‘for I kicked ‘im down and finished it.”
Amarro doesn't know much about Rue yet and is slightly surprised to see the hare take up the unfortunate fox's head. The squirrel's forehead crumples curiously but she shakes it off. For once there are more pressing matters at paw than a hare picking up a disembodied head. Amarro watches as Asha wipes her blade off on Tracker's clothes and comments, "Strange way to be dressed, hm?" She pushes at the robes with her footpaw and reveals his sheath, sword still within. Curious, she squats down to get a closer look and arches an eyebrow as the weapon comes into view. "It's wood." She states neutrally, looking at Asha.
Without a second thought, Rue turns, and whips the head off into the wood, underpawed. An ear is kept trained on the casual interrogation, but she seems only marginally interested in the outcome. There has been little the squirrel can infer about the hare, only that she thinks Abbeybeasts don't know how to fight, it's a good idea to arm dibbuns, she likes to get good and drunk on a regular basis, and that she has absolutely no qualms with sneaking up on a beast and cracking them over the head. You have an odd choice of friends, Amarro. Now she moves over to the body and curls her paws under its armpits as if to drag it away, but she's forced to stop by her companion's inspection. "Oi," she barks softly. She's trying to work, here.
At that moment, Asha's heart skips a beat. A wooden sword? Seriously, what kind of idiot wears a wooden sword, and then provokes another beast to kill him? Retaining a similar stony expression similar to the one worn when the two woodlanders showed up, Asha brushes her own paw past the squirrels and yanks the wooden prop free of its sheath. She lays her own sword down across the dead fox's chest, and turns the wooden one over in her paws, examining the crude device closely. "Bloody plume-tail musta' been more desperate like than 'e looked still, 'e shoulda' known better than to attack an armed beast on the road." With a rather nonchalant sniff and a groan, the sea otter sends the wooden sword arcing off into the woods, where presumably it lands somewhere in the vicinity of the fox's absent head. Taking a mental note of the hare's actions, Asha too finds it best to remove the corpse, granted their reasons are undoubtedly different. As long as the body is present the squirrel will remain curious, and as long as the squirrel remains curious, Asha will have to dodge questions. Taking up and sheathing her sword, the otter moves around to the fox's foot paws. "You wanna get tha' end?" She asks with a nod to Rue.
"Now wait, hold on a moment." Amarro places a firm boot on the fox's chest, keeping him down. "He's a young one, this, not that big, scrawny." She eyes Asha and grins disarmingly. "He scared you, hm? Little guy like this?" The squirrel crosses her arms over her chest and relaxes her weight onto her heels, head canted to one side. "He must've had a very intimidating voice. Was that it?" Her voice is still neutral and, while she may be feeling extremely sarcastic, her voice does not betray her. She's the perfect picture of warm concern.
Ah good, yes, thanks. Rue takes Ashsa's assistance with only a little reluctance. Anything that will get the fox out of the way. Though she keeps a calculating eye on the otter, already working out excuses that will get her a few minutes alone with the body. But suddenly she is staring at Amarro's shin not otter eyes. The doe's ears color, her brows furrow, and her eye follows the trail of the squirrel's body up until it gazes upon her face. "D'ya mind very much, lass!? Or d'ya welcome tha sort o' attention a corpse on tha road might get us!? Save tha bloody, sodding Grand Inquisition fah when we're safe inside, wot!"
With a heavy sigh, Asha lets the fox's feet flop back to the ground with a thud. Regarding the squirrel with mild bemusement, she makes a small gesture to their current surroundings. "Surely you can see tha' the lights faddin' fast, no? Nevermind the bloody mist. Do ya honestly think I'm gonna stop an' check how old the bloody cur was, right after 'e jumps out on the road and starts threatenin' me?" A small laugh actually escapes her this time. The story, however well versed it may or may not be, flows off her tongue with ease. "Now, maybe you southern folk have it easier down 'ere, but in the North, when a beast crops up and threatens yer life ya don't stop and ask nicely for 'is reprieve, ya run the wretch through and worry 'bout it when your still alive." As for the fox's strange garb... well, she'd never really stopped to look at that really, and she waves it off like she would a fly form a particularly delicious sweet roll. "And now, ifin' ya don't mind, miss, I'd like ta' get this wretch off the road 'fore we attract any more attention."
Amarro isn't quite sure why they're all worried about attracting attention. They're three well-armed woodlanders, literally standing on the beheaded corpse of a fox, on a dirt road leading directly to the famed woodlander stronghold of Redwall Abbey. Who, pray tell, is going to stop and ask them /anything/? Nevertheless, Amarro shakes her head and backs down, stepping off of the fox in order to allow them to drag him away and dispose of the body in the woods. There's a nagging suspicion about something that she cannot shake but she'll leave it for now.
Rue has been crouching over the fox's unburdened shoulders for many minutes now, all the while her muscles coiled, ready to spring into action. So when she finally gets the tacit go ahead from the squirrel she trots off backward with commendable speed. She ignores the strange creak of her knees. She has better things to do know then contemplate how well she is aging. Her attention is split between watching the otter's footpaws, and turning her head to the right to watch the ground behind her.
A nod of appreciation goes out to Amarro, and then the sea otter and hare whisk away with the little dead vagrant! Trudging along with the fox's boots in paw, Asha can't shake a nagging feeling that her story didn't quite settle with the squirrel. As far as she can tell, the hare seemed quite unconcerned, but the silence before the squirrel allowed them to carry off the corpse just won't sit right in Asha's gut. What do they care if a vermin grew too big of a head, and subsequently lost it in return? Surely one pathetic fox won't go missing, right? Shaking such thoughts from her head, Asha gives a verbal signal to indicate she think's they've carried the fox far enough, and rather unceremoniously she lets go of his feet.
Amarro stuffs her paws in her pockets and waits for the two on the dirt road. It is getting very chilly and she lazily shifts her weight from foot to foot in order to keep her blood circulating. Never one to be short on patience, Amarro turns her attention to the stars as Rue and Asha dilly-dally with the body, doing whatever it is they feel needs doing with it.
Rue doesn't need any further instruction to release the body to the ground, which is now growing frosty. As they'd lifted the corpse from the road, the angle had cause crimson to trickle from the veins in the neck, a few drops of ichor even soaking into her barksuede boots. She takes it all like a champ, nary a glance at her stained shoes, but she would like to minimize the chance of any further sullying. "Right," She says, brushing her paws together and planting them on her hips. "I'll, er, covah tha thing with tha brush. I think tha squirrel want a furthah word with ya."
The mention of covering the fox draws a barely perceptible, but still very real, snort from Asha, one that the hare will no doubt hear due to those very, very large ears. Still, she heeds the hare's words and without further ado starts winding her way back out of the trees. Along the way her mind races, pondering what manner of honeyed words will sway the squirrel away from drawing the murder conclusion. Then again, perhaps honey isn't the right substance here, perhaps its best just to head the matter off entirely. Asha waits until she's just on the edge of the road before she speaks, but when she does her voice is level headed, and calm. "You don't quit' believe me do ya, squirrel?" She asks, coming to a halt right in front of the other beast.
Amarro takes her time turning her attention from the heavens. She gnaws on her lower lip and slowly brings her chin down to glance at the otter. "Now what makes you say that, hm?" Amarro arches an eyebrow, stares levelly at the perpetrator for a few moments and then looks upward again, seemingly unconcerned with Asha's answer. They're both intelligent beasts, they both probably know what the other is thinking.
Rue is wholly unconcerned with this subtle poking these beasts are doing with their words. She merely gives Amarro a queer look, as if astonished that what the squirrel prizes, as Asha suggests is truth. And then she's collecting a good armful of brush, mostly old fir boughs and some dried fern leaves that haven't yet had the chance to rot. She does cover the body with them, if half-heartedly. It doesn't do anything to hide the fox, but at least she's done what she said she would. Then she drops over the torso of the corpse, making a great show of rearranging the camouflage as she pats her paws all across the clothing, looking for a coinpurse.
For a time Asha merely stares at the squirrel, trying to gauge just how much this beast suspects the truth. Her conclusion isn't exactly reassuming, but she also needn't remind anyone that the only beast here that know the whole truth is Asha, and Asha isn't about to go blabbering on about it. So instead she too turns her attention skyward. "Magnificent, aren' they?" Obviously she means the stars, which are just visible through the mist which has now begun to disperse. Whatever the current suspicions may be, the sea otter must decide to let them lie for the time being.
"Indeed they are." Amarro nods. Cold enough now that shivering is her next option, the squirrel rubs her paws together for warmth and crams them back into her pockets. Rue is taking her own sweet time covering up the body and Amarro is quite eager to head back to the abbey but it would be rude to leave the otter there without at least an invite to accompany them. "Where were you headed before you were accosted, if you don't mind my asking?"
Ah! There it is! Rue does her best to ease the small bag from the folds of cloth, but when she lifts it and pulls the drawstring open, the few coinc inside clink musically together. She hesitates, and ear turning backwards to gauge if there is any interruption in the beasts' conversation; any hint they may have heard, and then she upends the back into her palm. Her mouth tightens into a grim line. Three coppers and one measly silver disc? Well, it'll have to do. She pulls her own coinpurse from her coat and adds the money to her own, trying to be covert about it. Then she stows it, stands, and walks back to the pair, the picture of cheer. "Well, that's that. Hopefully tha blightah will nae be disturbed until tha spring melts."
"The fortress of Redwall." Asha says in reply. Bringing her eyes back down to earth, she points off down the road where the silhouette of the hulking sandstone abbey is just visible. "If I'm not mistaken, tha's it there, mmm?" Personally, she could care less whether the hare helped herself to the fox's coin or his drawers. Asha's not about to warm up to the dead vulpine enough to desire his belongings.
"Yes." Amarro answers succinctly. "It is a bit late but I'm sure we can get the gate open for you." The squirrel smiles broadly. "Rue, are you coming back with us?" She shouts this into the woods in the general direction of the hare and her prize. There's no point in hanging around if Rue is going to take forever. The hare is quite capable of protecting herself, especially a few thousand feet from the Abbey.
Rue flinches at the volume of Amarro's words, standing not ten paces from the pair of them. Nearly twenty seasons, and her ears have not lost their sensitivity. "Aye, quite cleahly," She shoots back with venom, folding her arms over her chest. "Why in tha name o'...why would I risk wandering inta tha dark forest in this chill when a warm bed is nae a league distant? Daft treerat." This last part is muttered under her breath.
"I would appreciate it. Been far too long out 'ere without a proper roof over me 'ead." Whether the hare or squirrel decide to follow or not, Asha starts the last leg of her journey, eager to get out of the weather and perhaps just as eager to rid herself of the crime scene, where the fox's stench still lingers.
Amarro stands for a moment gazing balefully at Rue whom she had not seen approach earlier. Then she's off, trudging after the otter, paws in her pockets, boots making a pleasant crunch, crunch over the pebbles along the roadway. The thought that something wrong has happened still nags at the back of her mind but is rather like a guilty feeling that slowly fades with time and eventually it is gone, safely stored away to be recalled later when something brings it back up.
Rue returns the look in kind, and her glare is much more horrible for the lopsided line that dashes across the left side of her face. She is not sure what she's done to deserve such anger from Amarro, sure in her mind that the squirrel couldn't have overheard her, but in either case she's not the type to act apologetic. Neither is she the type to enjoy society, so when the two set off, she is sure now to linger behind, though the length of her legs would serve her better in the lead. She wants no frivolous conversation along the way.
