“An’ what happens iffin they decide ta move th’ tree instead of goin’ 'round the thing like we want?” Leo was beginning to grate on the older bandit's nerves. He had no doubt about that. Still, it seemed like a reasonable question to ask and being that this was his first outing with the Wolves of Brevoy, he felt the need to absorb as much information as possible.
The seasoned bandit snatched Leo's longbow from the greenhorn and unhooked the string from one end, “Then we fill em full of arrows!” With a flash of steel the bandit shortened the string, “The main group is waiting down the other path but we're here in case these damn caravan chasers decide to earn extra coin and host the tree.” The older man hooked one leg around the bow and--using his weight to bend the bow--slipped the new eye of the bowstring into the string groove.
On the way to the ambush sight, Leo had finally asked why they called hired guards “caravan chasers” when the bandits were, literally, chasing a caravan.
The leader of the rogues, a burly Half-Orc called Mac tíre wrapped a giant arm around Leo, “We wait for de merchandise ter cum ter us. They run raun de city lookin' for a trader wi' too big a purse an' too wee barguckers.”
Years later, the Wolves were waiting for a fresh caravan and its chasers when a fresh-faced recruit turned to Leo, “Mac tíre, what happens if they don't leave the main road?”
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“I’ll say it again in the common tongue: it’s past time that you answer for your crimes, Mac tíre,” the elven woman's voice carried across the clearing. A bead of sweat trickled down Leo's forearm to join the others around the handle of the bloody buck knife. The woman in the green cloak stood with the point of her shortspear still pointed at Leo. He took a deep breath and hurled the knife at the green woman.
She ducked behind her wooden shield. The knife thumped off, landing somewhere in the grass. Leo had already snatched up his longbow before she lowered her shield again. And when she did an arrow erupted from her thigh. She screamed and launched the shortspear through the air in one last feeble attack and collapsed, clutching at the arrow shaft.
“Don' pull it out,” Leo nocked another arrow and as he nudged the black bear with his foot. “Is it dead?” When she didn't answer, Leo pulled the string back,
“Is it dead?!”
She nodded, tears welling up in her big, elven eyes and Leo felt that familiar spike of guilt. “I'm sorry fer yer bear. I know how druids’re ‘bout their animals,” he stepped over the bear and nodded to the arrow. “Now, I’m guessin’ that since th’ arrow’s still in, ya went 'n wasted alla yer spells. So, I'm gonna ta make ya an offer: I'll take ya to th’ healer in town an’ in return ya forget ya found me.”
It was no surprise to Leo when the green druid returned to his shack a few days later with a band of mercenaries on her heels. He watched from the treeline as they ransacked the hut where Mac tíre had done his best to become Leo again and, once again, to find a new place to start over.
