<html> <body> Man I've gotten bad about posting this.  My apologies! Inchoate Carillion, Inconstant Cuckold By Charles Matthias Sir Saulius awoke that morning with many things troubling him. There was little he could do about the subtle machinations the ram knight had seemingly suggested to them. He felt as if the ram were sounding them out to determine if he could have them as allies against enemies even here at Metamor and it made him very nervous. Yet, at the same time, he also wondered if that might not just be a paranoid suspicion brought on by the rumors and cautions he had heard about this man. Still, one thing the ram knight had said lingered in his mind even after all else had been dismissed. The notion was both appealing and frightening. It carried with it uncertainty and love in measures he could not discern. But at the very least it was something worth pondering and far more appealing than any questions he had about the ram's loyalties. Even though the sun had not risen yet and the morning was illuminated only by the many torches and lanterns scattered around the Glen, the rat knight did not find his squire in his home or in the stables. Both Armivest and Malicon were freshly groomed and saddled, so Charles had done his duties, but the rat was nowhere to be found. Sir Saulius sighed heavily as he left the ponies and started across to the northern side of the Glen commons. He knew where his squire and friend must be. He found the rat crouched over Ladero's grave with eyes shut tight, and his paws blending into the cross-shaped tombstone. Saulius was careful not to step on his squire's tail that stretched out behind him across the cleared ground as he crouched down at his side. He put one paw on Charles's shoulder and drew it back quickly when the flesh and tunic turned into stone beneath his fingers. “Please,” Charles said in a voice that sounded like boulders rubbing against one another. “He's the only family I have here. Leave me with him for now.” “We hath duties,” Saulius reminded him gently. More and more of the rat's countenance took on the chiseled gray of granite. “The marker has kept watch over my son's flesh. Leave me with the marker for a few minutes more and then I will finish readying our ponies.” Saulius shook his head as he stood. “Thou canst not stay amongst the dead. A few minutes, aye, but no more.” His squire's tail was stone now too as he stepped over it on his way back to the stables. ---------- To James's irritation he'd been assigned to scout with the exact same Glenners. While neither Anson the arctic fox nor Ralph the vole were truly bothersome – they were companionable enough in their own way, although they did keep far too close an eye on him – it was their scout leader Berchem who dug into his hide like a burr. He couldn't quite say what about the skunk bothered him – certainly not the scent since he'd long grown accustomed to Kayla's fragrance – but he longed for the end of the day when he could be rid of the man. They continued their survey of the lands south of the Glen, this time walking along the lake only partially covered by ice now, before following the river through the narrow valleys that few into the hills and eventually to the Metamor River. James brought his ice axe this time and hung it from his belt loop where the bell had been the day before. The bell was buried in the bottom of his pack; he'd thought to leave it behind after seeing what it had done to the hare, but for some reason he couldn't completely part himself from it and so it sat in the bottom of his pack where it would be safe and present. The terrain was a little more forgiving that day, though many of the rocks were slick with ice from the river and the early snow melt. James placed his hooves very carefully with each step; he would not give either Berchem or Lord Avery an excuse to take him off the mission. Charles had assured him that one more mistake could cost him his place. The donkey would not provide it. Nor did he. The day wore on with a faint warmth permeating the air. The needles on the larch and spruce surrounding them glistened with icy drops. Birds sang above them and on every side. The ice-choked stream babbled as it wound its way through tumbled granite and quartz; already the banks were rising. Yet, despite the dangers, he kept his footing and after a few hours both Anson and Ralph gave him no more attention than they did each other. Berchem continued to check on him, but James did his best to pretend that he didn't see the skunk watching him. They reached a small outcropping of granite overlooking a flume through which the river quickly descended. The trees dispersed allowing them a narrow view of the land south of the Glen. They could almost see the towers of Lake Barnhardt in the distance, but the intervening hills blocked the city from view. Berchem stopped and stretched, his long tail lowering nearly to the stone beneath his paws. “Where to from here?” James asked in a quiet voice as he stared at a stand of birch trees rising up at the bottom of the flume. Berchem lowered his arms and gestured at the makeshift bridge of stone beneath which the water dropped. Beyond the spruce clustered to the edge of the stone outcropping, roots digging into what soil they could find. “We break for a short meal, then we cross the river and return back the other way. Anson, Ralph, check around for anything unusual. James will prepare something for us while I keep watch here.” While the fox and vole disappeared into the woods on either side of the granite vantage, James lowered his pack to the ground and pulled out some of the foodstuffs they'd brought. Wrapped in some parchment was a bundle of cheese, hard bread, and some sausage. This he set aside and pulled out a small waterskin. His breath caught in his chest when he saw the bell glinting in the sunlight at the bottom of his pack. The donkey's lips trembled, stretching forward as if hooks were pulling them toward the bell, before he was able to look away and set his pack aside. Berchem rested against the edge of the outcropping, bow in hand as he scanned the birch trees at the bottom of the flume. His tail lay back across his legs, the striped tip flitting from side to side. James glanced at the skunk once and then turned to the food. He cut several slices of cheese from the wedge before doing the same for the sausage. He then wrapped all of it back in the parchment until the others returned. He glanced at the trees behind them, noting their heavy boughs and wide branches and sighed, ears waggling behind his head. “I wonder if Baerle and the others are out there.” Berchem snorted behind him. “Tree scouts don't come this far.” “But could she see us out here?” The skunk rolled onto his side and slipped back below the lip of the rock outcropping. “No, she couldn't. What are you worried about her for anyway?” “Oh,” James felt a sudden chagrin overtake him. He hadn't even realized he'd been talking out loud. He glanced down into his hands and spread his hoof-tipped fingers a little. “Oh, just, hoping that she's okay.” Berchem studied him for a moment before rolling his eyes. “Forget about her, James. She's not worth it.” He crawled back up to the drop-off and continued watching the birch. “Now keep your eyes and ears open. Let's hope there's nothing out there except our friends.” James was too stunned to move. What had the skunk just said about Baerle? That she was not worth it? James felt his heart burn within him and his one hand wrapped about his sword hilt. Was there anything she wasn't worth. He shifted about on the granite block, tensing his hooves beneath him. He could feel the bell thrumming in his bag nearby. His eyes locked on the skunk's back. Berchem concentrated on the woods before him; there was nothing to keep James from acting. The donkey stood, gingerly drawing his sword, so softly and so gently that it did not even rasp as it left the sheath. His nostrils flared and his tail flicked from side to side, while powerful muscles coated in gray hide rippled beneath his tunic, breeches, and cloak. The sword felt comfortable in his grip, yet it felt wrong as well. He took a careful step forward, hoof finding good purchase against the granite. A crackle in the brush to his left made James spin and lower his blade. Anson the white-furred fox emerged from behind one of the Spruce with his ears lowered and a wriggle in his black nose. “Looks clear to the east. And is that Jurmas's fresh sausage I smell?” His tail wagged as he looked at James. “Oh... uh... aye, it is.” He sheathed his sword and lowered his ears, couching back over his pack. “It's ready. Just... we're just waiting for Ralph.” He cast a quick glance back at the skunk, but Berchem was still propped against the outcropping. James chided himself on his foolishness. What good would his sword have done him anyhow? He could feel the throbbing, the very tolling of his bell deep within his pack. His lips quivered and his heart beat faster. There were much better ways to learn what the skunk meant by his foul imprecations. Tolling. He smiled and curled his right hand, imagining the haft of the bell rubbing against his palm. Tolling. “There's cheese and bread to go with it,” James said as he lifted the paper wrapped food. “Would you like some too, Berchem?” The skunk waved one arm at him. “When Ralph's here.” James nodded and handed some of the cheese and sausage to the fox. He took a bit of bread for himself and rolled the morsel around on his tongue and between his flat teeth. He swallowed and added, “I have it for you, Berchem, whenever you're ready.” Tolling. His ears twitched and he fondly patted the bottom of his pack with one hand. ---------- May He bless you and keep you in His grace and love, Charles Matthias !DSPAM:4e8e50a288395839567377! </body> </html>