Chapter Three: Weeping Willows
It was a fine morning to wake up to when Willow arose from her slumber. She looked out over Berdusk from her window. The warm, bright sun had already come out to smile at the equally shining young maiden. After looking down and inspecting the few people walking below her, her gaze became slightly fixed to the north, where she had heard Bugoron say he was staying for the night. She wanted to go and see him, but she knew that her and her father would likely be leaving soon, for she assumed that Douglas had already been up with the sun. She looked about the room, taking in its furnishings, its feel. The soft bed in which she had slept the night before was nestled in the corner of the little room, adjacent the window. The linen sheets were neatly smoothed out over the bed as they had been the night before, prior to Willow retiring for the night. Once again, she wore her quaint blouse and skirt, which she had placed tidily on the dresser beside the exit. She had set several other belongings down on the dresser: a small mirror, a little brush, some small pieces of leather for binding her hair, and a small purse. She gathered all the little items together and placed them back in her purse, carrying it on one shoulder as the left the room. She made her way down the stairs, past some pretty sketches and portraits given to the proprietor of the inn by various bards or freelance artists who were too n'ere-well-to-do to pay off the cost of their stay. The tavern room was relatively empty, save for a few customers looking for a warm breakfast in the comfortable lodgings of the inn. Douglas was sitting quietly at a table, and turned to look at Willow as she came down the stairs and into the room.
"Come on, then, get yer meal, an' we'll be out of 'ere, me lass!" Douglas's face was its usual grumpy, scowling self, but Willow couldn't help notice the slight hint of excitement on his voice. She had picked up on the subtle differences in her father's tone of voice long ago, but she could tell he was trying hard to mask his voice for some reason. Well, there's not much I can do about it, Willow thought to herself, and she decided to leave her questions for later. She ordered her breakfast and sat with her father, eating quietly and quickly until she was finished. The two exited the inn and headed to the stable, where the horses were kept and the wagon had been secured.
Douglas was moving along at a slightly faster pace than usual, another sign to Willow that he was hiding something, as he coaxed, "Come on, come on, get in there, hurry up!"
The young woman just did as she was told, wondering what her father wasn't telling her. She hurriedly climbed onto the wagon and went through the flaps of cloth that concealed the wagon's contents. She noted that what few wares her father had in the wagon last night were gone, and a new package was left in the middle of the floor. She looked up at Douglas, who had seated himself behind the horses. She noted that her father was grinning just before she looked at him. He had covered it up when she turned her head toward him, but not quite quick enough that she didn't catch a quick glimpse of it.
Douglas gave her a serious look, "I dunno wha's in that, so unpackage it fer me, lass." Willow looked at him curiously for a moment, then nodded, and began to unwrap whatever was in the parcel. As she was opening the package, she noticed that it was red in color, or some of it was, at least. She wondered what it was, but wanted to know for sure, because red was her very favorite color. When she finished undoing the parcel, her eyes widened as her hands unfurled an elegant looking scarlet gown that, to her reckoning, would fit her frame quite perfectly.
She looked up at her father again, and this time, the grin remained unhidden from her. Douglas simply said, "Sold the last of me goods last night, and saw that in the shop next te here. I thought ye might like te wear it when tha' young fella we picked up comes back through te see ye."
Willow's eyes welled with tears, as she placed the gown on the packaging gently, then rushed over to embrace her father joyfully. She exclaimed to him, "Thank you so much, father, I just love it!" She kissed him on the cheek and hugged him tightly again, then went back to the gown. She picked it up, feeling the soft fabric almost glide along her fingers. She went to the back flaps of the wagon and began to tie them shut, so no one could see inside. She turned to her father, asking, "If you don't mind, could I...wear it now? I promise I won't get it dirty or nothin' like that."
Douglas just smiled, nodding his head as he started the horses into a walk, setting them on their way. Willow smiled brightly, and gave her father another hug before bringing the front flaps of the wagon together, tying them shut. Inside the seclusion of the wagon, she wept quietly and happily, hugging the gown tightly against her before removing her current clothes and putting the gown on.
Bugoron had been well on his way down the eastern road from Berdusk by the time the sun began to make its way toward its pinnacle. He had noted from the windows of Hullybuck's that the night would be clear, so he decided to retire early and get what sleep he could, then set out under Selune's watch. He was in the midst of walking up a small hill, and was thinking about his encounter the other day with the happy young girl, Willow. He would make good on his promise, he thought to himself, for it would not be right of him if he did not. What good is a priest of Selune who cannot keep his word? Bugoron was again clothed in his blue and silver robe, with his heavier armor packed or strapped to his pack. His amulet shone in the sunlight and bounced gently against his chest with his light steps. He turned to look back toward Berdusk, and noticed a familiar cart making its way through a long stretch of road surrounded by thick forest. He smiled down at the cart, still quite some distance away, saying aloud, "Well, my Lady, perhaps You smile upon me again today, for I appear to be lucky once more." The half-elf stood off to the side of the road to wait for the wagon to reach him. He did not wait when he saw the wagon stop moving.
Willow sat quietly in the wagon as it began passing through the dense wood. She was smiling widely, looking down at herself. She had put on the gown that had been given to her by her father, and had been looking at herself as best she could with her little mirror. The gown enhanced the young lady's beauty further, if that were at all possible for clothes to do. Her reckonings were correct in the assumption that the dress fit her perfectly. It hugged her body tight, but comfortably, showing off every curve of her small frame. As the wagon trundled along down the road, she was bouncing on her seat slightly. She wondered if she were bouncing more from excitement or from the ride down the bumpy road.
Willow closed her eyes, hugged herself tight, and closed her eyes as she sat, thinking to herself. "I can't wait to wear this for Bugoron..." she said quietly to herself. As the last of her words left her mouth, she heard a loud grunt from her father in the front of the wagon, and felt the wagon slowing down. She feared that Douglas had somehow heard her, and was angry for some reason. She moved to the front to untie the strings holding the flaps in place as the wagon was coming to a full stop. She untied the last of the strings finally, pulling them back to see her father sprawled backwards in his seat. A long-shafted arrow was protruding from Douglas's chest, and it had been aimed directly for his heart. The arrow had found its mark: her father was dead. Willow began to scream, but a grimy hand came around the side of the cloth to cut off her cries as a strange man pulled her back into the concealed back of the wagon. She was so shocked by the death of her father and the man forcing her to the floor, that she found herself unable to move. She closed her eyes tightly, as if to make a nightmare go away, but that was not going to happen. The dream she was in now was no dream, it was real. She opened her eyes slightly to see her attacker. The man was a brutish looking thug, quite fit, and well muscled. He was grinning at her, with what few decaying teeth he still had left in his head. He was breathing heavily, the smell almost overpowering Willow, making her want to wretch. His clothes hung in rags, tattered and torn about his body, which was as foul smelling as his breath.
The thug grinned again, saying, "Oh, come now. Pray, my dear, what's wrong with ye? We're jus' havin' a little fun now, aren't we?" He laughed aloud as he watched tears begin to roll down Willow's face. The man took a small knife from its sheath on his breeches and made a cut in the fabric of Willow's gown.
Willow heard the fabric give way to the knife, and she cried out, "No, don't, please don't!" Her cried was answered with another laugh, as the man took the tear at both ends with his hands, pulling it wide. The tear shot down the length of the gown with the force of the man's pulling, ripping it wide, leaving Willow's body naked and vulnerable as far down as her stomach.
The thug's eyes widened, taking in her beautiful frame, "Oh, pray now, my girl, you weren't goin' te keep this fine body to ye'self, was ye?" he said with a wicked smile. All Willow could do was cry, the man was far too big and too strong for her to move, and even if she could, she didn't believe she had the will to move in the first place. She trembled as she lay exposed to this stranger who was about to humiliate and violate her, and just sobbed.
A voice came from beyond the cloth flaps where Douglas had died, "Pray...pray...? You dare use that word, you filthy wretch? You're unworthy to speak it at all." In a flash of bright blue, a figure came through the flaps. The newcomer took one step and planted a steel boot into the stomach of the thug rising and turning to face him. The thug flew back into the tied flaps of the back of the wagon, the power of the kick driving him through the cloth barrier and out of the wagon completely. Willow could only watch in disbelief through blurry eyes soaked with tears, as the newcomer jumped out the back of the wagon, behind her. She curled herself up into a protective ball on the floor and closed her eyes, hoping that she might now be safe.
Bugoron had enjoyed that vicious kick, but he was far from through with this immoral bastard. Before the thug was able to regain himself, the half-elf bore down on him, landing a brutal punch across the thug's jaw, severely disorienting him. Bugoron brought the man to his feet, saying, "You unclean wretch, you would dare defile a woman of such innocence? You think too much with a part of you besides your brain." He reached down with his left hand, brought his mace from its sheath on his waist, looking back up with a scowl, then a nasty grin, "Allow me to help you with that problem." As he finished speaking, Bugoron swung the mace upward hard and fast, bringing its head between the man's legs. The man dropped instantly, and did not get back up. Bugoron rushed back to the wagon to find Willow, half naked and crying, curled up on the floor. Her back was turned to the half-elf, so instead of reaching out and terrifying her, he called softly, "Willow, it's alright, I'm here now..."
The young woman got herself turned around as quickly as she could at the sound of his voice. She gasped at him, "Bugoron?" She hadn't recognized him, most likely because he was wearing something he hadn't been when they had met before. She looked at the cloak adorning Bugoron, and knew that this must have been the Mooncloak he had told her about. He had said that the Mooncloak was one of Selune's holiest of artifacts given to the most faithful of Her followers. It was made entirely of Moonfyre, and had magical properties of heat. As soon as she knew it was truly Bugoron, her eyes welled with tears again, and she drove herself from the floor, throwing herself into Bugoron's arms.
The priest looked down at her, truly horrified to think of what she had just been put through, and simply held her close. He pulled his Mooncloak around them both, letting the Moonfyre of the cloak emanate gentle warmth into the poor woman. Willow pulled herself as close to Bugoron as she could manage, and wept in his arms. The sun moved solemnly over the tragic scene, allowing some sunlight to leak through the folds of the cloth.
It did nothing to banish the darkness.
The priest watched over her, looking grim. For her, everything had been torn apart: her gown, her innocence, and her life.
