Music and Stone (Closed)

[The Rambler]

Henry stretched out his arms over his head, reaching up towards the dusky sky above as he ambled down the dirt-packed street. He dropped his arms back down, the butt of his staff thumping against the ground as he did so, and looked around. The small village, an extension of the mining town of Stonevale really, was quiet, peaceful. The early afternoon heat of the day had faded, and most people were inside now - it was around the time for an early supper from what he remembered. Too late for the activities of the day, too early for things like the night-market, but just right for someone to wander around without drawing too much attention to themselves.

Henry winced slightly and resettled the pack and fiddle-case on his back, moving a hard edge out of his hip. That done, the musician paused and rolled his staff back and forth in his fingers as he thought. He was back here at this time somewhat accidentally - he had decided to make a trip back to the orphanage he had grown up in to visit, and to bring some trinkets from his travels back. A few of the other children he had grown up with were reaching their birthdays, and he wanted to join in the celebrations for them. They didn't know he was coming back though - he didn't send many messages back in the first place, and he had decided to make this a surprise visit.

It was a little strange though - the village was abnormally quiet. Even if it was at the peaceful hour between day and night, the sun still setting and painting the sky in darkening purple hues, there should still be some people out and about, rushing to take care of their last few chores before the day ended. The musician began humming under his breath as he pondered on the heavy silence over the village - like an air of anticipation, it felt something would be happening.

He shrugged that off - it was likely in his own head, from his own plans to surprise the kids at the orphanage. Henry was prone to showmanship after all, so seeing a situation that was building to a burst of activity and motion was probably just a flight of fancy for him.

Sure enough, the night began to come alive quietly - a few shops that he knew were parts of the night market, places where goods that didn't do well under the harsh light of the sun, or for people who worked into the deep of the night to keep things running, began to open up their windows and doors as he moseyed down the dusty main street.

Henry chuckled and waved to a few of the shop owners who recognized him - it had only been a few months since he set out wandering, nowhere near long enough for the people that had known him for most of his life to dicey what he looked like. Greetings were exchanged - and one old lady, who ran a bakery, waved him over interrupting the flow of his night. Bemused, he headed over to see what she wanted.

He was, almost predictably, loaded down with some loaves of bread. “You're heading back home, aren't you? Then you can take these over there so dear Matilda doesn't have to send any of the young’uns over to pick these up. Go on now, shoo!” The lady gave Henry an amused smile as she waved him off, his load now much heavier than it had been moments ago. With a laugh and the scent of fresh-baked bread in his nose, Henry resumed his walk through the streets.