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10-19-2003, 11:54 AM | #19 |
Ghost Prince of Cardolan
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October 31st
The fire had already flicked and died, leaving only embers to desperately linger on into the night. Leaves rustled lazily, and the stars wield overhead, dancing slowly in their courses. But something very unusual was taking place: Brass was thinking.While he still held firmly to the belief that thinking was best left to those who were good at it, and the only types of decisions he needed to make involved dinner, Brass felt that tonight should be an exception. So now he stared, somewhat detached, up at the stars and thought. Why would Hob go? Come to that, Brass fellow, why would he stay? Why're you staying, more importantly? Well, I guess orders are orders. No difference between a new lock and new rules for the Tooks. Well, maybe they're a bit different. But, why did Hob go? Maybe the food? No, Hob never ate all that much. The weed? No, that's not it either. We're supposed to get lots after this business is done. That Josh fellow, then? Maybe. He seemed to be a good enough hobbit. Better than Olo anyhow. ‘When the sun peeks above the horizon,' indeed! ‘Course I know what dawn is; It's when they kick you out of the Green during Yule, is all. The lass? Hmm, that might be it. The lass. Well, if the big folk are really out there, you'll be glad you don't have a lass before the end, Olbard Stonetoe. Poor Hob, though. Feeling satisfied, Brass allowed the dull ache on his forehead to finally halt his musings and his weary eyes to close. Dawn was close. [ October 19, 2003: Message edited by: Arvedui III ]
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