Duncan was just a few days journey from West Harbour. In about an hour or so, he'd be at the village of Willowmere. There was an inn at that settlement and he would definitely be coughing up a coin or two for a night in a real bed and a tankard or two of ale. He wasn't sure he liked sleeping in barns and lean-tos, but he'd no choice at this time of year as the weather just wasn't good enough for sleeping under the stars. The hay poked and itched, the animals smelled worse than his barrack-mates (and that was saying something), and he always managed to fall asleep on the one pointy rock buried beneath the straw. He was stiffer than a ninety-year-old human first thing in the morning. Daeghun and Shayla seemed to love the adventuring life, so he supposed it must grow on you. Why would they do it, otherwise?
The journey home had been mostly uneventful so far. He'd been set upon once by a couple of thugs, but had made short work of them. They hadn't expected him to be as well equipped to defend himself as he had, and even without drawing his sword he'd beaten the pair of them to a pulp. It had given him an odd sense of satisfaction and he grinned for a moment as he imagined one of the thieves to be none other than Gregor Redfell. He still owed that bastard one for getting him sent off to the military.
As he crested the hill that led to the small valley where Willowmere was situated he came upon the most unusual sight and he stopped, surprised, to watch the scene unfold.
"Just who do you think you are?" the indignant question drifted to his ears. It was a feminine voice. "Do you have any idea how much that instrument is worth, you damned fool?" The second question was followed by the sound of boots hitting ribs and a muffled groan. "Well, do you? Answer me!"
"N… no?" The mumbled response was a question itself.
"That's my entire livelihood you just tried to make off with, and it's a masterwork with some lovely enchantments I had to pay through the nose for." Another kick to the ribs followed the tirade, chorused by another moan by the unfortunate character lying on the slushy wagon-trail as he tried to dodge the booted foot of his assailant.
"Is there a problem?" Duncan asked, stepping forward to make himself known. He was surprised at the speed the cloaked character with the harp case on her back turned around to face him and his eyes widened as he saw he was now at the sharp end of a rapier.
"No problem at all," her voice was purring, deadly, "is there?" She directed the question towards the hapless thief on the road. She stepped back from him then, allowing him to scramble out of reach of the blade she had whipped back towards him.
"No, none at all." Duncan couldn't help but snicker as the bandit's voice came out many octaves higher than it should be. The man rolled onto his hands and knees and scrambled away into the fields that edged the mere.
"Are you alright?" he asked the woman as she swung the harp case off her back and inspected it.
"I'm fine," she smiled up at him and Duncan was dazzled for a moment by the pretty face that had been hidden in the dark folds of the hood just a moment before. Then a frown replaced the smile as she began to untie the straps of the oilskin harp case, "but if that bastard has damaged my harp, I'm going to hunt him down and kill him. I'm supposed to be playing at the inn in Willowmere tonight."
Duncan watched as finely sculpted hands inspected the beautiful instrument they held. He'd never seen a finer example of a travelling harp before. He heard her sigh, content there was no damage and watched as she lovingly sealed it back up again.
"I'm heading that way, myself," Duncan spoke, a little uncertain how she would greet his statement, "if you'd like the company, that is?" He was rewarded with another of her dazzling smiles.
"I'm never adverse to travelling a ways with a handsome young fellow such as yourself. And you are?" She held out a hand in greeting and after a moment he took it and shook it heartily.
"My name is Duncan."
"Pleased to meet you, Duncan. I'm Esmerelle."