The Journey West
The brawny hunter moved swiftly through the dense forest, stepping over rocks and underbrush with little effort. He carried a mid-sized rucksack stuffed with a small axe, traps, a spare set of clothes and jerky. A suede water skin lay against his side and on his waist belt, hung a large hunting knife with thick brass bolsters and a handle wrapped in leather.
“Come now old man. I’m not sure how you’re supposed to be my guide from all the way back there!” Eckardt shouted behind him.
The prospector held the rear on foot, leading a large white destrier with caramel patches and a cinnamon colored mane. The horse was loaded with a multitude of sacks, bags and bedrolls strapped to its back and the cargo swayed and rattled with each step.
“I’m not old. I’m middle aged!” Duramarth yelled back angrily. “In any case, it’s quite obvious you’ve lost the trail and I’m stuck trying to tame this dreadful beast of yours while she does her best to steer us into every low hanging branch and topple my priceless artifacts
“Careful now, that’s a Mearas you’re fighting with. Besides if you didn't load her up with every little trinket in Esgaroth she’d probably be a bit more cooperative,” the hunter grinned.
“A Mearas? Ha-ha! You’ve heard one too many elven tales my boy,” said Duramarth.
“Oh, and forgive my insolence Lord of the Mark,” the prospector continued sardonically, exaggerating a bow.
At that moment the reigns were jerked from his hand and Duramarth lurched forward, losing his balance, almost falling on his face as the beast came to a screeching halt. A golden cup flew out from one of the panniers, hitting the prospector on his crown.
“This backward mule is more stubborn than you are!” Duramarth yelled furiously, shaking his fist with one hand and rubbing the back of his head with the other.
“Don’t be mean to Rohal. She hears every word you say,” replied the hunter.
“Hears every word I…what absolute nonsense,” the prospector grumbled to himself.
Duramarth looked up at large steed to see her big chestnut eyes staring back at him and for just a moment, he wondered…
“Come now grandfather. We’re almost back to the trail,” the cheery hunter teased, breaking Duramarth’s brooding.
“Grandfather?” Duramarth shook his head and growled under his breath, “If he keeps that up, I’ll ring that thick neck with my bare hands.”
