"Lookeelookeelookee!" chitters the Kavi driver, as he skillfully keeps his seat on the carriage as it jolts along the occasionally gut-wrenching bumps of the mountain road. "Rakhtor Peak! Birdiesbigenoughtocarryoffdromodons! Oop! Whoawhoawhoawhoa!" The carriage shudders as it slows to a stop, the sounds of its rattling being replaced by the lowing of Rughrats being shepherded over the broken road.

A tree with leaves in shades of gold, bronze and copper leans over the road, and over the remains of a short stone field wall that looks to have been torn apart by the arms of ivy that cling to its length. The mid-morning sun plays hide-and-seek with roaming, patchy clouds that glide by overhead, giving an intermittent warm glow, in between the soft shadows that slide up and down the slopes.

The Skreek shepherds urge their charges onward, the eldest and shaggiest of the group commanding the beasts in a raspy voice, while the youngest leans back against a tree and plays a lilting melody on pipes – a melody that scales downward ponderously, occasionally swinging back up before continuing its downward spiral, like autumn leaves making their downward, wind-borne journey to the ground. A foppish-looking fox in blousy Gallisian attire sits atop the half-broken field wall, picking and strumming the strings of a scuffed but well-crafted lute, providing accompaniment to the flutist in an unlikely roadside concert.

A breeze stirs the branches, bringing with it a montage of wet, cool, foresty scents, intermingling with the musky odors of the Rughrat herd. The leaves rustle like the sounds of papers being shuffled in a bored Inquisitor's office, and a couple fall free, tumbling and swaying on the air to bounce lightly off the sides of the covered carriage. A coppery-hued leaf finds its mark in the open window of the carriage, however, drifts uncertainly, then alights upon the bridge of the muzzle of a steel-grey rat riding inside.

Also riding inside the carriage are two cheetahs (one of them especially large) and a German-Shepherd/Irish-Setter mix Gallah mutt. The larger cheetah, Burr, takes up most of one side of the passenger compartment, leaving just enough space for Testament-Blaze to squeeze in. Testament-Blaze doesn't look quite so raggy as he has for a while – Mother Diamante had some new robes sewn up for him, and while they aren't as flashy as his Abaddonian apparel, they're quite an improvement upon the slave rags he had been running about in earlier. Plus, he even has a leather belt sling for his new Holy Book.

On the other side is Copy, the Gallah mutt. He has been cleaned up now and then, and now looks more like a peasant than a beggar – not that drastic of an improvement, but still moving up in the world nonetheless. Plus, he has a couple of agate eyes to fill his empty sockets. While they make him no less blind than before, they at least deal with the disturbing appearance made by sunken eyelids and hollow sockets.

"Guh," the gray Skreek grunts out, reaching to peel the leaf from her nose. She stretches her shoulders a bit and climbs over Burr to have a better peek out the window. "We there yet? Gah! So that's what they look like before you eat them."

The Kavi chitters, "Almosttherenotmuchfurtherjustoverthisrisethenpastthebendthendownthewayandover
thebridgeunlessit'swashedoutthenwetakethedetourbutIdon'tthinkthatwillhappensinceithasn'trainedrecentlyand… " The Kavi rambles on and on.

The Rughrats bellow and complain as they make their way across the trail, lengthening the delay.

Willow nods idly in a way to suggest that she's not really paying attention but doesn't want to appear rude. Her ears prick up at the sound of music and she crawls across the Savanite a second time to peer out the other window at the source of the noise.

The fox notices the movement, and turns to look toward the carriage. "Oh! Hello there! Beautiful day, isn't it? Greaslings and salivations to you!" He doffs his hat, swinging it in a wide arc, the feather flopping about over the oversized brim.

The Skreek taps her nose. "Don't I know you from someplace? I remember seeing a floppy fellow like you back in Sylvania with a bunch of kitties as an entourage."

"Who, me?" asks the fox, pointing at himself. "Well … maybe. I'm a bard! I travel all the time. Ah … What might your name be?"

Of course, while he's doing all this, his lute is silent, though the Skreek leaning against the tree keeps playing on his pipes.

"Willow the Wisp of the airship Merriweather, here to do a bit of trading with Master Naochi." She peers out at the Rughrats to see if the delay affords her enough of a chance to get out of the carriage,

It looks like the Rughrats are taking long enough that there would be more than enough time to walk around the carriage a few times, maybe even check the luggage. No sticky-fingered Skreeks seem to be anywhere near the cargo for now, at least.

"Will o' the Wisp? Why, yes, I know that song!" beams the fox, pretty much ignoring everything else that comes out of Willow's mouth. He strums his lute, and begins to play and sing…

Will o' Wisp, oh Will o' Wisp,

You're floating in the dark,

Will you wander aimlessly,

Or will you find your mark?

Will o' Wisp, oh Will o' Wisp,

Is it safe there in your bog?

Dark won't hide you even if

You hide in rotten logs,

The female Skreek knocks against the side of the carriage. "Hey! I'm going to stretch my legs while we're delayed. Don't go riding off without me." She vanishes in the window, giving Burr a good kick to jolt him, and motioning for him to follow her.

Burr starts at the kick, and stumbles out of the carriage after Willow, briefly ending up on all fours on the ground in his haste. He gets back up again, and adjusts his cowl so it isn't blinding him, then takes in his surroundings as he rubs sleep out of his eyes.

Willow reflexively pulls her "walking staff" out and wanders over to the shepherd boy and the fox, "That wasn't a request; it was my name. And you are?"

The fox, slow to react, sings, "Are … you a ghost in the night? An … " (sproing) He stops. "Oh? It was your name? Well! What a novel name!"

The young Skreek, meanwhile, keeps playing the same lilting melody on his pipe, oblivious to the fox's starting and stopping.

Shaking her head, Willow makes a twirling motion with her hand. "Go ahead and finish your song. Where did you hear that one anyways?" She eyes the younger rat for a moment, checking to see if he happens to be one of the Krozite types with the straight legs or more like the "normal" Skreeks.

The younger rat is evidently Krozite, as are the other rat shepherds. He would be scrawny by Skreek standards beyond Kroz, though the oldest shepherds are putting on enough "insulation" that they wouldn't stand out as strongly.

The fox smiles. "Oh! I'd love to! Now … where was I?" He waits for a few beats, then picks up again…

Are … you a ghost in the night?

An abominable fright?

Or a dim glowing light?

Why … do you flicker and glow?

Have you something to show?

Or do you even know?

The fox pauses a bit, strumming his lute, shifting back to the original melody.

Burr just stands, rubbing his eyes a bit more, and sniffing at the air on occasion.

Will o' Wisp, oh Will o' Wisp,

Oh are you really there?

Are you just a myth or tale,

Or should I even care?

Will o' Wisp, oh Will o' Wisp,

I'll watch for you tonight,

May not see you sometime soon,

But I'll watch in case I might.

Willow sidesteps a little while the fox plays, to focus her attentions on the shepherd boy. "Hi there. That's an odd song you're playing yourself. Is it a shepherd's song?"

And then the fox continues his playing, leaving off the lyrics.

The younger Skreek finally puts down his pipes, still facing toward the Rughrats, only casting Willow a sidelong glance. "Naw. Heard a maiden by the river singing it. Can't get it outta my head now."

"It's an appropriate autumn tune I suppose." She pulls a leaf out from her hair. "Do you know if we're on Naochi lands right now?"

The Skreek nods solemnly. "Yes, I certainly do, ma'am. It's been Naochi since you passed Rakhtor Peak." He points down the road. "Once you get through that pass, it'll start to go downhill. You should be there before you see a shadow on the Procession tonight."

"Thanks." Willow wraps her arms around herself as though suddenly affected by a chill. "Is it safe to travel by night? I've… er… heard rumors about ghosts here and there."

The Skreek gives Willow a wide-eyed, incredulous look … then suddenly breaks into laughter! He slides down the tree, guffawing and chortling. The fox starts laughing as well, though his expression is that of one who laughs because others are laughing, not of one who is in on the joke.

Willow's ears flatten. "And what the hell is so funny, eh? I wasn't aware that the people here found humor in merchants asking honest questions."

The Skreek snorts, then staggers back up to his feet. "Ah … yeah … don't go out at night. It's not safe. But the ghosts aren't the ones to worry about. It's the bandits. This is a lawless land, ma'am."

The fox slaps his knee. "Oh! Bandits! Haw haw! That's a good … " He blinks, as if finally realizing that he really hasn't a clue what's so funny, but he fakes the rest of his laugh.

"Bandits, right." Willow wrinkles her nose. "I suppose that Prince Naochi doesn't patrol his lands?"

The Skreek shakes his head. "Nope. Leaves it up to other folk to guarantee safety. Tell ya what, ma'am … We can guarantee you safe passage as far as the city, for fifty shekels."

Eyes narrowing, Willow examines the young shepherd a bit more closely. "Don't you have a herd to tend to at the moment?" Her hands tighten on her staff.

The young Skreek grins. "Who said it was mine? And make that seventy-five, instead. You said you were a merchant, after all."

The fox, meanwhile, looks confused. "Ah … does anyone want to hear a new song? I know quite a few of them!"

Meanwhile, it looks like shepherds don't seem to be all that organized in how they're running the Rughrats. Quite a few are behind the carriage as well.

"How about you leave me and my crew alone and you get to keep most of the skin on your head? I don't make deals with pirates." Willow keeps her staff low and poised for striking.

The breeze shifts directions. Willow catches a whiff of Gallah that she didn't notice before. It would seem that Burr isn't the only one who has gotten off of the carriage while it has stopped.

The rat boy grins. "If you strike me down, you will be hurt more greatly than you can possibly imagine."

"Guard other side of carriage." Willow signs sharply to the Savanite. "Ah. You have some mates? Look, I don't have seventy-five shekels. You could at leash show the brains to roll me AFTER I left Castle Naochi instead of before." She shakes her head. "If you wanna dance then let's dance… but I don't have anything you're interested in."

Willow sniffs at the air, trying to determine the number of scents and how many companions this Skreek might have.

The young rat says with a shrug, "Hey … if we don't find that much … we'll just take what you got, eh? We're not picky."

By the scents on the air … there are at least two off in the bushes upwind. There are three other shepherds that Willow could see moving the Rughrats, but they didn't look to be particularly impressive – They might not represent actual fighters in whatever group is assembled here.

Burr, meanwhile, starts to head off to the other side of the carriage.

The fox says, "Now … just wait one moment here … are you meaning to tell me that this is some sort of petty highway robbery?"

The younger rat squeaks, "No, of course not! Just a business transaction. I already pilfered every coin you had on you when you were snoozing under the tree, panzie-boy!"

"Yes. You might want to hide or something." Willow's fur bristles as she focuses on the rat. "Well then… come and take what you can. I don't suppose you're afraid of a little lady Skreek standing in your way, are you?"

Willow's keen ears pick up a whistling noise of something coming through the air at high velocity…

The Skreek throws herself down, not wanting an arrow shaft or a rock in her head at the moment.

A sling-stone whistles past, impacting against the carriage. Another flies by, missing whatever mark it was intended for.

The young rat, meanwhile, darts back, making quick his escape with this diversion … but he runs smack into a blind Gallah.

"Ho ho! Merci, monsieur! Stay a while, won't you?" The mutt flicks a blade up toward the young rat's exposed throat. No telling whether he can use it effectively, but the young rat is definitely caught by surprise!

The foppish fox yelps loudly, and throws himself underneath the carriage.

"Burr! Take care of the ones in the bushes, and mind those rocks!" She shakes her fur out, grips her staff and prepares to lunge out at the bandit in front of her, stopping short at the sight of the Gallah. "Good going, Copy." She lunges out with her staff to strike the Skreek in the stomach with it before he gets lively again.

The Skreek, far too focused on the blade at his throat, is an easy target for Willow's staff. He goes down with a grunt, and curls up in a pained ball.

Copy barks, in Gallisian, "Was I anywhere close? That sounded like a good hit!"

Burr, meanwhile, dashes off for the bushes, and a few more stones whistle past.

"You're fine; now just keep our friend here down and get the bard's money out of his pockets. If you don't keep any of it for yourself, I'll let you have that bottle of Abu-Dhabi cognac you've been sniffing at. If any more if his friends show up this way then give a howl. Now, if you'll excuse me… " Willow twirls around and dashes after Burr to give the cheetah a hand with the rock slingers.

The cheetah is heading toward the bushes, all right, but he evidently doesn't share Willow's keen senses to aid him in pinpointing his targets. He takes a couple of sling stones, but they aren't solid enough hits to slow him down.

Willow's nose and ears, however, give her a pretty good clue as to where to find the two stone-slinging snipers, just off in the bushes over yonder.

"Over here, callous head!" the gray Skreek whistles to the cheetah before rushing into the bushes.

One of the Skreek opponents becomes visible, as he loads up another sling-bullet … but he panics at sight of the approaching attacker, and hastily flings it without aiming it properly … beaning his Kavi comrade instead!

The Kavi drops his sling and falls forward into the bushes. The Skreek responsible lets out a profanity, and drops his sling while he fumbles for a chitin knife.

The female Skreek figures that the most dangerous target is probably the one to go for first and she leaps for the other Skreek, swinging her staff at the rat's head. "Roll ME will you!"

The staff connects, and Willow is momentarily blinded by blood. It isn't her own.

Willow scrubs the burning liquid from her eyes as she whirls around to face the Kavi. "What about you, mate? You wanna run and keep your head?"

The Kavi is out cold on the ground. It looks like he got beaned good.

Burr jogs up … then blinks at the two crowned snipers. No more stones whistle past. If there are any more attackers out there, they're keeping quiet and well hidden.

Shaking her head, Willow emerges from the bushes and makes her way back to the carriage. She wipes some of the blood from her nose and sniffs at the air. "Burr, get those damn animals out of our way. I'll watch your back."

Burr nods and darts back down the hill. It looks like Testament-Blaze and the Kavi driver are already trying to shoo off the beasts, while Copy is wagging his dagger menacingly at the retreating "shepherds".

The Skreek taps her staff against the carriage to get the fox's attention. "They've gone. You wouldn't happen to know if that river that our friend mentioned is around here? I need to wash up."

A vulpine muzzle pokes out between the spokes of one of the carriage wheels. "Oh? Yes, it's right down the way. I hope you don't mind me inspecting the bottom of your carriage here. It's rather cozy down here, really! My, my, such nice construction!"

Copy shrugs as he comes back to Willow. "Didn't find a shekel on him," the Gallah barks. "Just his pipes."

The Skreek nods. "There's two more in the bushes back there, but I don't think either of them are going anywhere." She knocks against the side of the carriage again, "Sit tight, everyone. I'll be right back. I just can't go into town with blood on my fur and clothes. Give a call of they come back."

Testament-Blaze nearly trips over his robes, trying to deal with the beasts. He's definitely no farm-hand, that's for sure. But Burr nods to Willow, and the Kavi scrambles back up to the carriage. "Notaproblemyoujusttakeyourtimethat'sjustfinewithme!" the Kavi chitters.

Sighing, Willow heads off in the direction the fox indicated. Her ears keep pricked for the sound of rushing water just to make sure the directions were good.

Downhill is usually the way to find a mountain stream eventually, and Willow's efforts do not go unrewarded. Her keen ears pick up the faint trickling of water tumbling over mossy stones long before her eyes do.

"Scruddy bandits, worse than ghosts." She shakes her head and kneels in front of the water, inspecting her clothing and fur to see what can be salvaged. ( I really hope I've not lost another good shirt… )

The trickling of the water and the rustling of the leaves drowns out the lowing of the Rughrats, and Copy's attempts to drive them off further. But then a new noise breaks through, as a cloud passes overhead – a female voice, humming a melody. It's the same melody the young bandit was playing on his pipe.

Willow sneezes water out of her nose as she raises her head to try and catch the direction of the music. "Hello?"

The owner of the voice must be upstream, where the brook trickles past several gnarled roots of trees, even passing underneath the roots of a particularly large and warped one that acts like a bridge of sorts.

( Well, I'll be getting wet anyway to clean myself off. ) The Skreek pulls herself up and climbs up towards the tree as she hunts for the source of the voice.

As Willow struggles up the stream, the undergrowth becomes more and more resistant to her efforts. It would seem that this way isn't often traveled. She hasn't even made it to the big tree yet.

"Now that's funny." The Skreek starts clearing her path out in some of the stubborn spots with a few whacks of her staff, otherwise she simply climbs over what she can. She pauses every so often to listen to the tune and focus on its source a bit better.

Just when it seems like Willow might have a bearing on it … she gets past the big "bridge" tree … and the singing stops. There's nobody here. With all the trouble it took Willow to get here, it's highly unlikely that anyone could have been here and gotten off so casually – let alone while singing, of all things.

She scratches her head and clambers back to the other side tree, inspecting its roots and crevices. "Hello? Anybody there?"

Something crunches and gives under Willow's foot.

The Skreek winces and slowly pulls her foot up. "Please let that be a root… or a branch… " She looks down.

Hidden within the undergrowth is … a basket. It was once a nicely made wicker basket, perhaps, though it has rotted so thoroughly that this isn't the first damage that has been done to its fragile frame.

"Even more odd." Willow kneels down and clears out the area around the basket, checking for signs of what it might have held.

The contents of the basket are not in great condition, either … but Willow finds the remains of what look to be little blankets. The basket would be about the right size to hold the makings for a nice little picnic in the countryside … but picnics aren't usually wrapped up in little pink blankets. There's also something that is barely recognizable at first … but appears to have once been a pacifier.

There's also a faint scent … something familiar. It smells faintly of brimstone.

The rat's teeth clench and she whirls around to look at the tree. "I don't scruddy suppose that you do anything more than sing, right? Bah… " She fishes out the blanket and the pacifier, trying as hard as she can to keep the objects from crumbling in her hands as she sniffs around for the source of that brimstone scent.

The source seems to be on the basket itself. It might be mixed in with some of the dirt … but it's a fair bet that there's some of that little black powder sprinkled on the basket somewhere. Or maybe in it.

The blanket doesn't seem to be doing any crumbling, thankfully. It's just thoroughly filthy, and has been gnawed on here and there by bugs. A few bits fall of the cracked and dried pacifier, but it stays mostly intact for now.

( It could just belong to someone the bandits rolled. They probably wouldn't flinch at ditching a pup in the river. Simple. ) She searches through the undergrowth for anything else that might have come along with the basket.

Nothing more reveals itself. Just some more flaked bits of the basket.

Willow pockets the pacifier and tucks the blanket under her arm before walking back down to the stream to resume scrubbing herself. After a few moments she also dips the blanket in the water as well, hoping to clean it up a bit.

The blanket takes quite a bit of scrubbing, but she now has a small baby-sized blanket that is red in some places, and faded pink in others, with a few holes chewed here and there for good measure.

Arching an eyebrow, Willow peers closely at the red markings. ( Blood? Or just an odd dye pattern? )

As Willow peers more intently at the patches of red and pink, a pattern slowly emerges – slowly, given the holes and the stains to mentally block out to connect the patches. Five slashes running across the cloth, parallel.

The fur on the Skreek's neck bristles. She wrings out the blanket and scrabbles back up the bank of the stream and back towards the carriage. ( A baby would have died out here. Tachiri wouldn't have gone through the trouble of sending one down the river if he could have just as easily suffocated one. It's just another scruddy coincidence, that's all. And I'll finally prove it when I dig up Chiria's grave. )