Snippet #1876334

A lone mosquito swayed lazily towards Jeremiah's face, he flicked at it absent-mindedly. It was some hours before dawn and there was still a kay or more to go before he reached the village of Corwen. Looking behind him and to the east Jeremiah could just see the soft pinkish fingers of twilight reaching towards the moor.

Below him Supper whuffed with impatience. The poor beast was just starting to get his health back. There had been more than enough grass on the moor, and occassionaly they would happen across berries, but like Jeremiah, Supper needed more than grass and berries. He could feel his own ribs through his jacket, even though there had been plenty of game; a diet of gopher and the odd deer left something to be desired. Three different times he had to move his camp because of the wardens, from habit he kept a kay wide vigil of his camp sites; and it certainly paid off. He had learned early on, as a scout, the trick of seeing and not being seen.

With a sigh Jeremiah gave the horse a pat on the neck before squeezing with his knees to get it moving again. Each day and night on the moor had brought Supper closer to becoming his namesake, but with the word Jeremiah had received from some outlaws passing through the moor he was glad he had stayed his hand where the beast was concerned. It seemed the Hunt Brothers were at it again, and hopefully it would work out better than the last time they had all ridden together. "Not to mention the three guinea that bastard Jack owes me."

Supper ignored him and plodded along, the horse evidently not thinking the comment worth a reply. Reaching into his satchel Jeremiah pulled out some salted pork a prosperous farmer a few kays back would never miss. He might miss the grain, but Supper needed to be well-fed. Jeremiah took pride in his knowledge of horseflesh, and Supper was a better beast than most.

After twilight's pink fingers had begun to firmly grip the surrounding lands, making an eerie haze in the fog, they reached something akin to a road with a weather beaten kaystone on which barely legible letters spelled out Corwen. Jeremiah tossed the last bite of salted pork to a three-legged mutt sitting next the stone and put his knees to Supper, urging him faster.

Supper passed the Dog at a fast trot. A group of riders appeared around a stable out of the fog, too disorganized to be military and too many to be bounty hunters. He hoped. Jeremiah slowed Supper to an easy canter. As he pulled within a few yards he could start to make out faces. "'Lo, Jack. Good to see Bill's still around to keep you above ground." Jeremiah pulled his steady gaze from Jack and nodded at the younger Hunt brother. "The chant is you bastards got some work for dishonest folk like myself."