Story for the Day: To the Hunting Lodge
Every season, the members of the Brigade, Frewyn's mountain marines, come down from their lofty posts in the Menorian Mountains to take part in the seasonal hunts at the Westren Hunting Lodge in the village of Fharaliedh, There is usually only one mark, and after the men have had their sport, they gather in the hunter's hall, to carouse and make merry with ale and good spirits. The journey to the hunting lodge, however, is not an easy one: the lodge is tucked away on a plateau near the western border, and the members of the Brigade who venture there often have to choose between joining the event or visiting family.
After all
the preparatory speeches that Tearlaidh made as to their being sensible and
judicious with regard to changing to their ursine forms—advising them with the
fond solicitude of a
concerned parent that traveling down the ridge and toward
the hunting lodge was best done in their current states while the woods at the
base of the mountain were animated with hunters—and after a raisedd
brow and a glance from Sile, Dirrald and Bhaunber bade their laird goodbye for
three days, or thereabouts, with reassurances that they were “no’ gonnae show
‘emsel’s” without Eadmhaird’s being with them, and that they should remain with
Eadmhaird throughout the duration of their time there, to follow his lead, and
if not to challenge his right to be called the greatest hunter in the kingdom
than to give him some agitation about losing the title to them. Supplies were
duly assembled, embraces were exchanged, and with all the eagerness that being
to participate in their first hunt could warrant, Dirrald and Bhaunbher left
the brigade encampment, as anxious to be in town again as they were to be away
from their regiment. They had grown accustomed to the isolation, the reclusive equanimity of Frewyn’s western border, to the soaring majesty of niveous peaks,
to the grand gesture of the precipitous slopes, to the rumbling unquietness of
nebulous vales: the kingdom’s natural majesty reigning over the eastward realm,
the valleys prostrating themselves in supine genuflection to the endless
horizon, and being amongst such prepossessing wilderness, such immaculate and
untamed serenity, was all their equal veneration. To be the sentries of such an
unexceptionable charge—here was gratitude unconscionable, and they stopped at
the edge of the encampment to admire the prospect, to own their amazement at
their good fortune it having been given so wondrous a station, and wonder at
every other solider’s hesitation in joining the Brigade. True though it was
that the training was rigorous, the scouting severe, the conditions sometimes
unforgiving, but the reward of being with Tearlaidh, of being in the mountains
and mantling over the kingdom, of being charged with Frewyn’s security was
worthy compensation.
It was six months since they had
last been in a town, and where they thought they should miss being amongst the
all the bustle and animation and variety of society, they had grown fond of
their establishment in the wilds, of their pelts and pavilions, of their
commander and all the Brigade’s customs. They did miss—they must miss-- their
respective families in town, but correspondence and news of how they all were
kept them from worrying about them very much, and as Mrs Cuineill and High
Brother Coltas had sent them frequent letters, detailing all the goings-on of
Westren City and the municipalities surrounding, Dirrald and Bhaunbher were
well furnished with assurances of safety and information enough to make them
tolerably comfortable without civilization.They had one another, and with Sile
and Tearlaidh to train them and add to their numbers round the fire in the
evenings, they never wanted for camaraderie: they did their night exercises and
managed the supplies, hunted under the luninata of the moon hanging pendulous
amidst the stars, skinned their kills and roasted meat, heard Tearlaidh recant
the histories of his younger years, and Dirrald wrote letters and worried for
Rosamound, whilst Bhaunbher spent the late night hours under the auspices of
Sile’s tent. Surprised were they to
discover how well they would do in the wilds, and even more suprised was
Bhaunbher to discover how much Dirrald fulfilled the office of brother and
family, but though Dirrald was indeed his brother in many respects, he could
not replace Tomas. He felt for Tomas exceedingly, thought of him almost every
hour, and wondered how he was getting on being alone in the house with only
their mother for company. Mrs Cuineill, being resourceful and convivial as she
was, fond of conversation and a master of Frewyn codology, was no quiet
companion for a silient son like Tomas. Her letters to Bhaunbher confirmed his
ideas of Tomas’ lonliness: she never wrote of expressed sentiments or contrition
as to how Tomas felt about Bhaunbher’s absence, but the mention of Tomas’ staying
within doors, of his only venturing to his apprenticeship under the shroud of
evening, of his working at all hours and never going beyond the borders of
their land was disquieting. To hear of his brother confining himself was all
Bhaunbher’s compunction, his culpability expatiated by seeing Dirrald touch his
pocket where Rosamound’s letter was folded away with a distressed countenance.
“She’ll be there,” was Bhaunbher’s
calm reassurance. “Her letter said she would be.”
“Aye,” said Dirrald, his fingertips
browsing the edges of the letter, his brow bent in consternation. “Her last
letter said she’d be at the cabin, and she wasnae there.”
He lowered his head, his aspect
growing desperate, and Bhaunbher, sharing in his brother’s anxieties, placed a
hand on his shoulder and gave him a determined look.
“We’ll find her,” said Bhaunbher,
with firm decision. “Doant ye worrae about it. That letter said she’d be there
for the hunts. If she’s no’ there, we’ll hunt for her oursel’es—ye, me, and
Eadmhaird. We’re fair hunters by nou, we’d be sure tae find her if she’s near
the mountains, and Eadmhaird can find anaebodae, and ye know that. He can track
anaethin’ that moves.” The lirks around Bhaunbher’s mouth began to curl. “He
found ye out, aye?”
Dirrald almost smiled. “Aye,” said
he, in a fond accent, “he did tha’.”
Relief soon surmounted Dirrald,
agitation dissipated and exultation prevailed, and with a heavy sigh, feeling
ressured of their finding some intimation of Rosamound, Dirrald led the way
down the mountain, interweaving with the immense pines, marching through the
brushwood, his pelts pressed against him, Rosamound’s letter next his heart.
They
were going to find Rosamound, a notion which struck Bhaunbher at his heart.
Dirrald of course must be apprehensive and exulted all at once, for they were
going to discover the location of his oldest friend, but Bhaunbher’s feelings
of a less gratulating character: they
were going to find Rosamound, to meet her at least if they could, and they
were descending from their elevated post and spending a few days at the hunting
lodge—they were going to find Rosamound,
and yet Bhaunbher had not seen Tomas in six months. To a disinterested brother,
six months when in active service would be reasonable, but Bhaunbher was too
much of the devoted and affectionate brother to leave Tomas for longer than his
heart would allow. He had a promise to keep with Tomas, that he would visit
whenever he should he descended from his post, but here was was attending the
hunt, and the lodge was no where near Westren City. His mother’s house was
miles off, a four-hours ride from their encampment, but that he was using the
day to take part in the hunts rather than travel to see his family—there all
Bhaunbher’s grievance lay. He slipped across the downward rolling streams and
was silent, ruminating over whether he were neglectful brother by not visiting
with Tomas now that he had his first leave of the Brigade, but while he was
being permitted to leave the mountains, he was not off duty; the hunts were a
Brigade tradition, and his time at the lodge was to be counted as time in
active service. He might reason that active duty prevented him from going
further eastward, but he could not reason away his guilt at abandoning his
brother in some way. Would that Tomas could join him. Would that there were
some manner in which Tomas could be prevailed upon to convey himself to the
lodge—but Tomas disliked society of any distinction, shying away from community
gatherings, crowded markets, and even friendships for the sake of preserving
his timidity. How should he convince him
to emerge from his coveted den? He spied Dirrald reaching into his pocket and
touching the letter, and here Bhaunbher understood what he must do: he should
write to Tomas from the lodge and see whether he might not get him thither.
They should be there two days at least—surely his brother would come to spend
the day with him even if he refuse to hunt, and they need no stay in the hall
if Tomas should not like it; they might go out onto the plateau, or they might
walk along the woodlands, or they might sit and stargaze or enjoy one another’s quiet conversancy in one of the private rooms. Tomas’ only difficulty in such a
scheme should be travel, but Bhaunbher could have that all arranged. He had
been given a few silver at parting to spend at his discretion, and as he did
not drink and planned on eating only what was hunted, his expenses should be
nothing at all, and he could very comfortably spend a silver or two on
conveying Tomas in a carriage across the region. A closed chaise with an
excellent horse should do for Tomas, and Bhaunbher was resolved to write and
send for his brother once they were settled in the lodge, the notion of which
was all his comfort.
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