"Fergus Ian Kelley, I swear upon all that is good an' holy, if ye've gone and gotten us lost, I will skin ye alive," she growled, glaring at him. The black-haired squirrel simply glanced up from his compass (he had modified it a little, and now it was spinning in circles instead of pointing out true north) and smiled. It was his normal 'I'm in trouble' smile, the one that was equal amounts cheek and sheepishness. Eileen looked like she wanted to strangle him before she followed through with her threat of skinning him alive. But that wouldn't work, if she strangled him before hand, so maybe she was going to strangle him after? Ew. That could prove to be a mess, and also, why would he let her?
He eyed his older (and littler) sister as she pawed her dagger hilt and glared at him. He knew she wouldn't actually skin him, but she had no qualms in chasing him down and walloping him good. As they tramped along this narrow, disused path, in the heady, green realm of Mossflower, she stood out. Her dark red, curly (and a touch frizzy in the humidity) hair was bound back and escaping, falling into her eyes so she had to flick it back, or blow it out of her face. Both gestures made her look vaguely like a horse. Or like she had a nervous tick, like Great-Aunt Bellamey.
"We're not lost, Eileen," he told her, glancing down at the round little compass. It was still spinning like a top. She seemed mollified, and he braced himself for what was coming next: "We're simply taking a detour."
She walked for a pace more, and then stopped suddenly. Fergus had kept on walking, striding down the narrow little foot path ( it was going to come out at the main road, the one that went past the Abbey further north) but he could feel her glare boring into his head. Then, as if sensing it, he bolted. She was right behind him, chattering in angry Gaelic, her dagger in one hand and threats spilling from her mouth. He laughed hysterically and shot through the forest, his pack slapping his back with each step.
An hour later, they were still lost, but Eileen was in better spirits about the whole thing. Chasing after Fergus had that effect on her. It helped relieve some of the frustration that she felt. Not all of it, but a little. They had been lost and 'taken detours' more times than she could count, on their journey south. She just wanted it to be over, so they could settle and take care of the farm in the Southsward, until they could sell it or get someone they trusted to take care of it. And their Grand Uncle Cain didn't want it going near paws that weren't of Kelley blood. With a sigh, she slumped back against the tree they were resting under and passed Fergus a flask of water. he took it with a grunt of thanks, and for a long while, they simply enjoyed the clearing. But unable to sit still for long, Eileen took to scanning their surroundings; a habit she'd picked up from her Militia training. She hadn't made captain for nothing, after all, even in a backwater little Militia like hers.
And what she found was not at all good. She pretended not to notice, and stretched languidly out. Her foot nudged Fergus's, and he grunted again, rousing himself from a doze. In their native tongue, she murmured, <we're bein'="" watched.="">Fergus opened one eye idly and looked at her. She was serious, he could tell by her voice. He made no moment to sit up, though, he was tensing to run. <oh? how="" many,="" and="" where?=""><about five,="" maybe="" eight.="" in="" the="" ferns,="" surrounding="" us.="">Her paw went to her dagger's hilt, but before she could move, a harsh cry rent the air and their watchers charged.</about></oh?></we're>