Old bones.

[Cherny]

The end of another day's lessons, and the students file out of the schoolroom in a more-or-less orderly manner - at least until they're outside and thus free, and the street echoes with shouts and laughter as they split into little groups or make their way home, calling and jeering to and fro.

One, however, does not.

Cherny, the miller's boy, solemn and diligent in his studies, and with more time to devote to them since the winter set in; too cold most days, too great a risk of ice building up on the great wheel and wrecking it. So he's in the schoolroom more often than not, making up for time lost in the Rememdium, attacking the business of letters and figures with dogged determination.

Today he lingers behind, loitering, huddled in his threadbare but well-mended coat and casting frequent glances towards the headmistress; eventually he spies an opportunity to approach without interrupting or imposing, and ducks his head in a quick approximation of a bow.

"Beg pardon, Sera Olwak." His voice is hoarse, dragged harsh and unwilling from his throat; he speaks rarely in class, but listens most attentively. "I had a-- I met Ser Burnie the other day. The Governor?" The Governor, yes, and his unfamiliarity with such exalted personages shows in his hesitation over how best to refer to him. "He said he had a, a job for me and my friend, if we wanted it. And to tell you if we did." Never mind that it had taken very little time at all to decide in the affirmative; the Governor had insisted that word be passed to Sera Olwak, so here he is.

"Well, we'd like to do it. If, if he still needs us."

[Jirai]

Cherny is a model student, one that Rhaena frequently wishes more children would emulate. So when the boy comes to her after lessons, she is quite pleased and more than willing to set aside what she had been doing to listen to him, smiling encouragingly as he stumbles through the words.

"Wonderful, Cherny." She answered brightly. "I am sure Glenn will be ever so pleased that you've decided to help out. I shall let him know." Had already done so, of course, but no need to mention that.

[Cherny]

Other students might be there at the behest of their parents, under duress, instructed to better themselves, which isn't always a successful source of motivation. Cherny, meanwhile, has decided that books hold a great many things he would like to know, has set his mind upon learning his letters as a result. He remains a quiet presence during lessons, reluctant to volunteer his thoughts, but when questioned it's clear enough that he pays close attention to what Sera Olwak and her assistants say.

Glenn, though. There's a visible moment of uncertainty as he works out who that is; when Catch speaks of the man it is always Ser Glenn, and when others refer to him it is usually as "Governor Burnie" or simply "the Governor", so to hear him referred to so informally is strangely jarring.

It's a brief thing, though, and he bobs another bow in reply to her answer. "Thank you, Sera." He shifts a little, not at all accustomed to being the sole recipient of the headmistress' attention or her cheerful smile. Not sure how to proceed from here, either.

"I can, I'll look forward to hearing back, then. From Ser Glenn." Doing his best to show manners; dimly aware that one looks forward to receiving word from one to whom it is important to be polite. There are things which are said, which are expected.

"Shall you let me know what he says?" Well-spoken people use shall, but not always, as he's learning; an awkward turn of phrase recognised even as he says it, an attempt to emulate Sera Olwak's refined speech which didn't quite work out. Something to remember for next time. "Will you, I mean."

[Jirai]

"Thank you, Cherny, for choosing to help. And your friend, of course. I will be certain to let you know what Glenn says, if he does not find you himself." That smile, turned full force on the boy as it was now, was a powerful thing. "I shall see you tomorrow, then, Cherny."

[Glenn]

Two mornings later, at the Southern edge of town, just past the Broken Dagger, Governor Burnie would be waiting. His horse, stalwart Aggie, a fine mare of far more even temperament than her namesake, was loaded for a short journey, one that involved hard work, retrieval, and maybe a picnic as well. There was a smaller pony as well, and a rather gruff man along to tend to it, far gruffer than the pony seemed to deserve. Burnie was waiting, having been even earlier than the proposed meeting time, perhaps in the hope to get going as soon as possible.

Evenwith his link to Rhaena Olwak, there had been some questions that he had not asked. There were other things to look into. Burnie, on his own, could not focus on every matter at once, but he could, when faced with an eventuality, plan for it. That was what he had done here. Options, then.

As for the governor himself, he was clad in clothing that was well-made but not overly expensive, very suitable for travelling and even for physical labor. There was the distinct possibility that one might get his hands (or paws) dirty on this excavation.

[Cherny]

As arranged, Cherny meets the Governor at the appointed spot - more-or-less on time, or at least not especially late. Wrapped well against the cold, as has become customary, and burdened by a rusty mattock which his intent to wield might most charitably be called ambitious. His pace falters a little as he spies what looks like an expedition up ahead, mounts and a handler and packs and the like, but he hurries to meet the little group once he notices the Governor among them, breathless and more than slightly nervous.

"Sorry w-we're late, s-ser." Because if the Governor is already here then they must be. "It's a w-walk from th-the m-mill." Not much of an excuse, he knows, as they should've set out earlier, but the best he can manage. Certainly he'll not embroider his apology with anything that might possibly be construed as a falsehood; men as important as Governors have ways of finding such things out, after all. Dark eyes glance to the horse, the pony, and the dour-looking man before returning to the Governor.

"Is it f-far?"

[catch]

He knew his days, and he knew his Nights. He knew, in that instinctive way of animals, when an event was bound to happen, if it had happened before. He could feel when Cherny was ready to leave his school, or his work, and at what times the Millowner habitually made his rounds, so that he is always hidden. Late, to him, was a time when he did not feel these twinges, when Cherny managed to sneak up on him, and he was, after all, only a dog, so the great beast, rolling alongside Cherny with a swift, waddling gait, sees that there is the Governor, and they are waiting, he looks at Cherny. They were not late, obviously, or else Glenn Burnie would have gone on without them. It must be different, for people.

As Cherny speaks for them, Many-Fights is quiet, shivering a little from the cold, even under his grand, fat coat, and snuffles about the hooves of pony, horse, and the boots of dour-man. He is mindful that all these things could hurt.

[Glenn]

Not late at all, Cherny." A smile from the Governor, not offended in the least. "and not all that far. Less than two hours' ride I might think." To the dog, there was a nod. "Good morning, Many-Fights." Pleasantries all around, for they were well deserved. These two had offered their services and the formerly mute boy, at least, was spoken well of by Rhaena. "I did not know if you could ride or not," this to boy, not dog. "If not, it's fine. You'll just ride with me, and we'll go at a pace comfortable to your friend here. If that means it takes us a little longer, that's fine too. I've many hours set aside for this. If that's a problem with your employer, I can have a runner sent to inform him, with the Governor's seal and an appropriate sum to make up for me stealing you for the day."

That out of the way, Burnie would look to the southwest. "I do not see this as a particularly dangerous expedition, but there are forces at play. I think Many-Fights will be exceptionally useful for this, his digging prowess, his nose, his more unusual abilities. As I said, there are powerful forces at play and a small possibility of danger. The two of you are within my protection, but against the preternatural, I am but a man. Moreover, what we do is rather morbid business. I'm not entirely sure what we are going to find. If you wish to turn back now or to send Many-Fights on with me alone, Cherny, we'll think no less of you for it. If not, I would appreciate your company and opinions on the day to come."

[Cherny]

Not late at all is reassuring, and combined with the smile sets Cherny slightly more at ease; he's not in trouble, at least, hasn't disappointed the Governor. Two hours' ride is a bit less comforting, further afield than he'd imagined, but the matter of riding is more of a concern than the time taken.

"The m-mill's s-stopped, ser - t-too much ice, on th-the wheel. S-so I'm at your s-service." He's gathered that last is a proper thing to say to one's betters, or to those with whom one wants to make a good impression. In any case he'll not be missed from the mill, at least not for today; he's attended to his chores already, and there's a limit to how many times one might usefully sweep a floor before it won't get any cleaner.

He listens quietly as the Governor explains some of the task that lies ahead, although he doesn't necessarily understand all of it; certainly Many-Fights is good at digging, and there's a furtive glance to see if the hound caught that compliment, but is less sure about the mention of unusual abilities, of the preternatural. It's the talk of Many-Fights going on alone with the Governor that firms his resolve, though, a sharp shake of his head and an unthinking step closer to the hound. "I'll c-come along, s-ser. I'm alright at k-keeping out of t-t-trouble. I know w-when t-to run." Has been repeatedly instructed in the importance of such, and encouraged to do so rather than engage in foolish heroics. Even so, there's the falchion under his coat and a decent pouchful of streambed pebbles besides - and most of all, he's brought his friend with him.

"I've n-not rode a h-horse b-before, ser." Not had the opportunity, or even the need - what use would a mill-boy have for such a skill? No, his legs serve him well enough most of the time. But then again it is quite a way, and it's already been a fair hike to get here in the first place, and he eyes the pony speculatively before offering the Governor a shrug and a game grin. "But I'll g-give it a t-try."

[catch]

Many-Fights is not adverse to flatteries. His head lifts from his task, and his stubbed tail gives out a furious bout of wagging. But he is quiet. He has been very quiet, lately, juggling these new-thoughts and the sensory inputs of a dog. He had never had to think about it, before, but now he found himself doing so, and that tended to bewilder him, the things that he had been used to doing all his life without the knowing.

And so he lets Cherny handle the formalities, snuffling at the pony, and a muttering scatter of words. YOU BEHAVE WITH CHERNY-BEAST GRASS-BEAST, he will grumble, not meaning to be overheard by any save the pony, though the pony could not answer nor hear. He paces, stately, the way he had been taught as a pup; head thrown back, chest out, waddling between Cherny and the Pony, because he is cold.

[Glenn]

Some relief as the dog does not suggest that he too rides the pony. Still, there's some level of hesitation. They were in no large rush but there was no telling how much work was to be done and what surprises might await them. "Aggie's already somewhat weighed down." He finally said. There was a shovel, among other things, packed down on the horse. "If you want to try to ride the pony, that's fine. Nebuchadnezzar, you'll lead the pony, then, with Cherny riding. If you can give him a hint now and again, Neb, it wouldn't hurt." It'd add an hour to their journey, perhaps, but it was an early morning and it'd mean the boy would get a unique experience out of this at least.

A firm nod to the groom and then to the lad. "Best help him up then. We've no time to waste. I'm glad you've decided to come, Cherny." Then, idly, already looking away as he mounted his own horse. "By the by, any strange dreams lately?"

[Cherny]

Aggie would be... the horse, then, yes. In truth he's glad to be assigned the pony instead, an altogether less intimidating beast, for all that the same cannot be said of its handler. Who is made to wait for a moment as the boy pauses at Many-Fights' side, tugging the swathed woollen scarf from about his own throat and reaching to wrap it snugly about the hound's altogether broader neck. Close enough to be warm but not so tight as to strangle, the ends tucked into Many-Fights' sturdy coat.

"He'll b-be g-good." Quietly spoken reassurance for the hound's benefit, and there's an air of apology as he straightens, regret that he'll be riding while his friend must walk. But he's sense enough to see that there's not really a way around that.

Under Neb's guidance and with some assistance he manages to eventually clamber up into the saddle, holding tight to the horn as he adjusts to this new and somewhat loftier view of the world, grinning nervously to Many-Fights below; the Governor's question is a welcome distraction, then, for all that he has to think a little before he can answer.

"P-plenty, ser. I w-was at th-the Rememdium - they g-give you all sorts of t-tea, s-ser, and m-medicines." Poppy tea for pain, other infusions and tinctures to help one sleep, to heal, to fight off fevers. "M-make you d-dream even when y-you're awake, some of th-them." A few of those dreams had stayed with him, the most lurid and strange; others had faded on waking, recaptured only as wisps and fragments as some odd detail or other reminds him. Why would the Governor have an interest in such?

But no; there'd been another dream, months ago now yet still vivid and awful to recall. He'd awoken with the stink of smoking flesh in his nostrils, searing heat biting at his skin; overheard murmurs and mentions afterwards, and even explicit confirmation that others had shared this vision of fire. Fire and loss.

"What s-sort of strange, s-ser?"

[catch]

An extra warmness about his throat, and Many-Fights would swing his broad head about, barely missing cracking Cherny in the chin, instead giving him a sloppy, planted kiss of the tongue. His face was alien, expressionless; yet it conveyed, somehow, the worry in those muddy, brown eyes, watching Cherny scramble up on the pony, peering at him until he is certain the boy would not fall off.

Still, he is quiet. As they begin to ride, Many-Fights would run stoically, settling into a rolling gait that seemed about to burst him open at any moment from the movement, yet seemed to suit his needs.

[Glenn]

This was Glenn Burnie. This was the Governor of Myrken Wood. He wanted something. Perhaps he did not even need it, but he wanted it, and he was finding a way to get it. And how? Through understanding those around him. He had appealed to Many-Fights' pride, to his attributes. He had supported Cherny at every step, had offered him choices without a loss of face. And now the three were off (along with the horses and a rather grumpy Neb, who thought his work for the day might be over).

The dog would receive a small smile, whether he realized it or not, darting ahead like that. To be honest, Burnie was not particularly good with such animals, but this one was able to express his views and needs in a way that the former mapmaker could more easily understand. That's all it ever was, a communication issue and a stubborn (still) young man who refused to go halfway towards something of so far diminished intelligence. With Many-Fights, that was hardly a concern.

So for the dog it is a small smile. For Cherny, it's a slightly concerned look back to make sure he was doing alright, and then a nod. Coddling went quite far, but business was business. "Fire. A building. A loved one. Saying no is fine, too, Cherny," always talking to him directly like that. Mentioning his name. Focused. Reassuring. "In some ways I'd prefer if you hadn't had that dream. It would mean that your slumbers are truly your own." Burnie hadn't, but that was completely different.

[Cherny]

The boy's almost getting confident, perched up there on the saddle, but only until the pony starts to move; then it's a matter of clinging on for dear life as each plodding step threatens to pitch him to the ground, or seems to. No control, as Neb holds the reins, so he's left as a mere passenger; it's a little while before he realises he's not going to fall from his seat, and by increments his nervousness fades. It's something new and unfamiliar, yes, but not bad. After a time he's even brave enough to pry a hand free of the saddle horn, to offer Many-Fights a small wave and a grin, should the hound glance up, to show him that he's fine.

Meanwhile the Governor's explanation confirms that yes, he means that dream, and this tempers the boy's mood somewhat; his smile fades, dark eyes turn aside to the wintry woodland, and he hunches into his coat against the cold air.

"I've h-had th-that dream, s-ser." His tone makes it clear enough that it's one he wishes he could forget. "M-me and, and others. C-catch had it, and S-sera Khalika t-too. D-did y-you have the s-same d-dream, ser?" Something like hope in his raw voice.