X: Sunset
The walk back home felt twice as long to Deacon. Though he enjoyed every bit of it and with twice the vim, following his nasty ordeal with the Orcs. Stopping for the tiniest things - such as a Holly Blue butterfly fluttering by, a ladybug scaling a mossy rock, and the act of saving a dungbeetle from a fingerdeep pool of rainwater - Deacon savoured every experience. It was late when he arrived at the village clearing. The sun had already started to hide behind the trees, sinking ever deeper, while orange light and dark shadows played their game on the forest floor and on the clear waters of the Delimbiyr stream. A thick fog began to move in from the south and started to fill the clearing slowly but surely. Like smoked glass it filtered the remaining daylight, making for a milky light that warned nocturnal creatures that their time had come to awaken. The heron that had fled from Nibbles earlier that day had returned to its usual fishing spot along the water. It too cast a long shadow. One that resembled an upturned garden hoe.
The graceful bird turned its head as Deacon approached. Its black coiff still dripping wet from an earlier plunge into the water. "Evening!" Deacon exclaimed cheerfully. The heron did not budge as it had turned its attention back to the frog that sat on the other end of the stream. Nibbles and Fluff followed in Deacon's wake as he wobbled along the bank of the orange tinted stream. Deacon plucked a tuft of tall grass from the soggy bank and placed it between his lips and moseyed along. Fluff eyed the grass and reeds but decided against it. Probably in favour of whatever delicious roots Deacon had shelved at home.
Deacon's home came into sight. Like a hulking, squatting Ogre it sat under the cover and shadow of a large oaktree. It was quite an intimidating structure from this angle. Its solitary window like a large eyesocket - the door its mighty maw. "Perhaps Deacon should have left a fire burning?" Deacon wondered to himself as they approached the dark structure. While they neared the doorstep, a torch-bearing ranger from the village came up to them. "Good evening, master Deacon. I am sorry to trouble you, but the Council wishes to have a word. They seek your insights."
The ranger was clad in a suit of armour, composed of boiled leather and dyed hides. The colour of choice appeared to be a forest green, mixed in with brown and black leathers. On his back the ranger carried a quiver, filled with arrows, their nocking ends topped off with sharp silvery feathers, not unlike those found on the heron. A long blade worn in a brown leather scabbard hang from his left hip, while a short dagger was dangling from his right.
Deacon sighed under his breath. He then turned to look up at the ranger and spoke with a weary voice: "Tell thy elders that Deacon shall hear them... soon." The ranger smiled a smile of relief and hurried back along the bridge that connected the village to Deacon's little abode. On our side of the bridge Deacon started to head inside, nearly stubbing his toe as he searched for a candlestick. Having lit the stick and after placing it on a nice brass candleholder, Deacon turned to scold Nibbles and Fluff. "Oh, why dost ye not wipe those paws! Look at Deacon's floor! Thy muddy prints a myriad of murk. Now who is going to have to clean that up? Precisely!" Deacon turned and walked to the kitchen counter. But before reaching for a cleaning cloth, he did something else: He reached for his herb-pouch and pulled out a beautiful daffodil (the one the swallow dropped!), then placed it back in the vase on the windowsill.
"There." Deacon simply said.
