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Post by The Flint on Nov 20, 2008 9:45:06 GMT -5
Rising up around the headwaters of the White Knife River, the Lonely Hills stand isolated from the other Northern mountain chains. In the foothills the ground teems with conifer trees. Bears, wolves and shadowcats all roam the forest, feeding on deer, stags, and smaller prey as well. Above the tree line, mountain goats and big horned sheep feed on scrub grasses. Those who travel here say they can feel eyes upon them, as though they are being watched. Those who come seeking the Burleys, need only wait, for the Burleys will find them, if they wish to talk.
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Post by Lord Rhaegar Targaryen on Nov 20, 2008 13:54:04 GMT -5
A shabby, ageing man begins to wander a well-worn path, that his seablue eyes had taken in many times.
His doublet was a dark, mud brown, with a trail of white footprints leading from right hip to left shoulder. Besides this, he had no other indication of who he was, or who he served, though the people here knew. It was his job to know. Know everything and all of what he was told to.
In recent years, that had encompassed the Lonely Hills, and it's inhabitants. He liked them well enough, though, it would matter not if he didn't.
He found it ironic that he was lonely.
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Post by The Flint on Nov 20, 2008 14:02:16 GMT -5
After a long while, the Lightfoot comes across a man sitting by a fire. He's underneath a homemade tarp of tanned animal hide, and is whittling a spear point from a pole about six feet long.
"Howdy stranger." He says, not looking up.
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Post by Lord Rhaegar Targaryen on Nov 20, 2008 14:06:08 GMT -5
"Good tidings, then?" Lightfoot asks, watching his footwork for any homemade traps they thought so playful when he first arrived.
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Post by The Flint on Nov 20, 2008 14:08:01 GMT -5
"Gonna rain soon..." The man replied, although the sun was shining above them. "What brings you out. You hunting? Must be kinda hard without no bow. Maybe you is a trapper than, There is some otters down the river over yonder, might make a Lady in some castle a pretty robe."
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Post by Lord Rhaegar Targaryen on Nov 20, 2008 14:15:27 GMT -5
Subtlety had always been his way of things... before coming to the Lonely Hills. A dirk hung from his belt on the left side, in case of any sort of hostilities in this forest.
"I always do hav' the spare time," Lightfoot says, turning his lined face toward the sky. No clouds in sight. "I think you may be wrong about the rain, this time."
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Post by The Flint on Nov 20, 2008 14:17:58 GMT -5
About a mountain ridge over, there is the slight crack of thunder, although still many hours distant.
"Nope." The man replied as he continued his whittling.
"You got anything to eat?"
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Post by Lord Rhaegar Targaryen on Nov 20, 2008 14:20:50 GMT -5
Lightfoot scowls at the thunder. "Are you sure you ain' a spellweaver? That could be really helpful."
He tosses the man a half loaf of bread. It looked to be almost fresh.
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Post by The Flint on Nov 20, 2008 14:22:19 GMT -5
"Nope. I just came from over that way this morning." The man said, putting his spear down, " I gots me some goat cheese, spreads pretty easy on bread, iff'n you want?" He says, going into the pouch at his waist and removing the cheese, ripping off a hunk of it with grimy hands and offering it up.
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Post by Lord Rhaegar Targaryen on Nov 20, 2008 14:25:56 GMT -5
Lightfoot takes it with no quarrel, taking a bite out of it. This was as good as it gets.
"Same as always then? Nothing of news?"
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Post by The Flint on Nov 20, 2008 14:29:23 GMT -5
"The Boltons is stirring. My second cousin's wife saw a big host to the south east, couple weeks back, but I told her it was cause of the fighting down south likely as not. Ain't nothing to get yourself in a twist about." He took out a small bronze knife from his waist, and spread the remains of the cheese over the half loaf of bread, before he started chewing.
"How 'bout down south, any news?"
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Post by Lord Rhaegar Targaryen on Nov 20, 2008 14:32:18 GMT -5
"War," he said heavily. "Always war. Young Stark is aiming to get himself killed, I think."
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Post by The Flint on Nov 20, 2008 14:35:36 GMT -5
"More like his father than his father-in-law, like as not." The man spit into the ground and wiped his mouth on his sleeve. "Ehh... Blood is always thicker. Don't make no difference. We'll be alright, as I figure it."
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Post by Lord Rhaegar Targaryen on Nov 20, 2008 14:42:25 GMT -5
"Nothing ever comes this far north. Not ev'n if we shouted in rebellion."
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Post by The Flint on Nov 20, 2008 14:46:05 GMT -5
"Ain't much up here, true enough. When the only ones who'd want to take what you got is wildlings," he scoffed, "well than you ain't got much."The man finished his bread, and uncorked his drinking horn, taking a long tug, before returning the cap. He does not offer any to the guest.
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Hope you all are well and happy.