A Little “Fun Time” (Open) {January 3011}

Another day it was, typical for the time of year, with cloud covering the sky, threatening snow – more snow – and a temporary balminess that belied bad weather to come. The people in the market moved with a natural certitude that they had best lay in what they’d need for the coming days. Edoras was a place where the townsfolk relied to some extent on bought or bartered goods, more than in the small hamlet where Eothain was raised. There, a few homes clustered together and the people certainly worked as a community, to make everything they needed, for trips to bigger settlements or visits from wandering tinkers were few and far between.

Coming to this larger town had been a change for the young soldier. But he was glad of the chance to be able to purchase what he did not have time to make for himself, given his rigorous duties and frequent patrols with the eored. It was often enough that, when he wasn’t out on patrol, he’d simply come back to the tiny quarters he shared with Eofor, and collapse into bed, exhausted. And since they’d been placed into separate eoreds, and thus went out on patrol at staggered intervals, neither could count on the other to be seeing to the homefront on any given night. More frequently than not, Eothain came home to an empty room, or alternately spent the night curled in his bedroll, trying to stay warm, somewhere out on the plains, surrounded by one hundred plus snoring men. A soldier’s life was not conducive to marital togetherness, when your spouse was a soldier too.

As he moved with a gait that indicated a purpose to his shopping, rather than just browsing, he came quickly enough to the stall that sold spun yarn. His socks were looking pathetic, and his bare toes which poked through the ends suffered accordingly in this cold time of the year. He was handy with a darning needle, though, and he meant to get to repairs that evening, by the light of the fire in their one room home. Eofor was out on patrol and there’d be little enough to pass for entertainment. The day had not been grueling and with what energy he had, Eothain meant to put the time to good use.

Standing at the stall, he surveyed the wares on offer and reached to pull the small leather pouch tied to his belt forward, sliding his hand in to extract a coin. It did seem odd, still, to pay precious coin for something his family and neighbors would have created themselves, back home. But he had no sheep here, no shears, no carding brush, no spindle, so…buy he must.

Having pulled out a few coppers, he let the purse dangle again, his attention turned to telling the woman behind the wooden counter what he needed.

Baldarich

It was another facet of life in a larger community, with a market where coins were used to purchase goods, that Eothain was, up to this point, blissfully unaware of. But as he felt the jerk at his belt, he had his first, personal introduction to the idea of pick pockets. Of course, the little tow headed lad who was making this unwanted introduction to the presence of criminal behavior wasn’t very adept at his art. There was no subtlety, and Eothain immediately twirled about, easily spying the fleeing culprit, who put paid to any lingering doubt as to his identity with his gleeful shout of accomplishment. The soldier sprinted after the little thief, who dodged and darted, like a hare trying to outfox the fox. And the boy was doing a good job of it. Eothain was fleet of foot, but nowhere near as agile in twisting and turning around the other market goers. He in fact tried to step around a woman, just as she tried to step out of his way, and he wound up glancing off of her, causing her to drop her basket, the contents spilling out onto the hard packed earth. He shouted an apology, and a promise to return in a moment and help her retrieve her things. But then he sped on, casting about wildly to catch a glimpse of his quarry, which, he feared, may have given him the slip.

But his eyes fell upon the boy, just as a man with a small cart, pulled by a donkey, came out into the path of the child, who tried to avoid a collision, but to no avail. There came a cursing, from the man, and a sharp braying, from the beast, and all was enough to allow Eothain to catch up with the momentary fracas, and lay hands upon the ragged tunic of the child.

He did not catch him up roughly or in a temper. But he had a good, solid grip in the material with one hand, and he stood the boy back up on his feet. The other hand extended and he said soberly, ”I believe you have something that belongs to me, lad.”

Baldarich