Gossamer's face flickered in shadow, the fire's flames reflecting ominously as if by design. He was nearing the ending scenes of his tale. There was no part of his body that failed to participate in the story. An idle leg shifting outward emphasizing a change in emotion joined with an alteration in the tempo of his voice. Arms flailed, physically expressing the fear felt by the main character. Every sword stroke was artfully demonstrated for the joy of the audience. He was a master story teller. He was also a thief.

Somehow, Gossamer could crinkle his face at will, adding false years to his life by way of crow's feet. His scraggly beard, dusted in ash, added to his age though he could move as a younger man when needed. He had never told Kelton his true age and Kelton had never let Gossamer know he doubted his appearance. A story teller needed a mask of maturity to fully enthrall an audience. Life experience gave the fables credence, made them more trustworthy to the ear. If the same tale came from Kelton's lips, it would have fallen false. With only fourteen winters under his belt, he wasn't ready for an audience. Kelton served better as a partner, invisible to those they meant to rob.

"Corrigan now knew what he faced. A demon from the deepest pits of hell, forged in evil and with an unholy thirst for death...His death!" Gossamer's deep voice echoed through the trees and into the starlit night, the cooking fire seeming to sway with his words. The two small children huddled into their smiling mother on the opposite side of the fire, their father chuckling at their fear. The siblings both had their mother's thick raven hair, the girl's growing long down her back, the boy's cropped unevenly short like his father's.

Gossamer and Kelton always worked the same. Gossamer would act the traveler, trading a few stories for a meal and a night of mutual protection. Away from the towns and the King's Own, the uncivilized roads were known to attract unsavory types. Higher numbers tended to keep the threats at bay. Travelers always welcomed the entertainment and conversation, if only for a single night.

Kelton had chosen a poor bush to hide behind. Its view of the scene was optimal, but it housed needle sharp thorns he had twice forgotten about. His right hand was wet with tiny patches of blood hidden by the darkness. He used his pants as a rag knowing the blood would blend in with the myriad of forest stains. His ever increasing height would require new pants soon anyway.

"In a bubbling mass of black flesh, the demon grew to twice its size." Gossamer stood slowly from the log as the fictional demon grew. His arms stretched out to emphasize the growth. A simple tilt of his head and the fire cast darkened shadows along his face. "Fire burst from his hand, forming a flaming mace twice the size of a man's head." Using his hands, he demonstrated the shape and size of the mace's business end, then brought his hands together and pulled them to his heart. It was Kelton's signal. Gossamer had his audience mesmerized, and Kelton was free to act unnoticed.

"Fear squeezed Corrigan's heart," Gossamer continued. Kelton shifted backward, away from the stinging bush and worked his way silently around the campsite using the trees and bushes as cover. It had taken years to master moving through the forest without making a sound. He took pride in the ability of his feet to find safe and silent purchase in the dark, bypassing twigs and dried crunchable leaves. Slow going, yet Gossamer could always give him the needed time.

Gossamer had strategically placed himself on the other side of the fire from family's wagon. The stage defined, the family logical sat with their backs to wagon leaving Kelton free to search without fear of their eyes catching his movements. The horse, a fat white-speckled beast, was not so blocked and whinnied as he neared. Kelton lowered himself to the ground and waited for a moment as the animal became used to his presence and to be sure the family remained unaware.

"Corrigan dodged to the side as the mighty mace, swung with hellish strength, shattered rock where he had stood not a moment before." Gossamer's voice was shaking, the timber reflecting the horror experienced by the fictional Corrigan. Kelton smiled in the dark knowing the startled horse had been ignored.

The wagon was sturdy and didn't shift as Kelton slithered onboard. Too sturdy. It must feel like riding on a rock as it traveled the well-rutted roads of the Felin woods. Moving about inside was difficult, the families whole life seemed to be aboard covered by a tarp that was supported by poorly seated poles. They must set the tarp every evening for rain and lay it flat across their possessions as they traveled. There were crates piled high to create room for the laid out furs, their makeshift bed for the night.

"He thrust his blade at the hellish beast with all his might. The demon moved impossibly fast, dodging the puny weapon, and reached out for Corrigan's throat." Kelton could hear a gasp from the young girl. Gossamer had their full attention. Though he couldn't see through the wagon's tarp, he knew Gossamer was using his whole body as a prop now, thrusting and dodging as the hero would.

Kelton began his search near the front of the wagon, hoping the valuables weren't stashed in one of the lower crates. Most people felt more comfortable storing their wealth near them, in this case, where the driver sat.

Gossamer made a horrible strangling sound, imitating a demon's hand about a throat. "Your village is mine mortal. I shall make a meal of your children." Kelton imagined the faces of the terrified children as they struggled to huddle closer to their mother. There would be nightmares tonight.

Kelton felt around the floor under the buckboard, trying to locate a box or bag that might hold valuables. Sadly, there was nothing. Moving backward, he smoothed out the furs with his hands in an attempt to feel a lump of hidden treasure. All he found was the rough baseboard of the wagon. Gossamer needed to keep the story going.

"Corrigan, in desperation, dragged his blade along the arm that held his throat closed. The demon howled and released him. Corrigan pressed his small advantage, letting anger feed his strength."

The first crate examined held only clothes. Kelton felt deep to the bottom and along the edges, finding nothing solid. Noting it's placement, he lifted the box and silently placed it atop the furs. The crate below held iron pans and dried food. It took longer to search as each item needed to be quietly probed by touch. Each time he thought he found the family's stash, it turned out to be something mundane and useless. At least Gossamer's hero still held his blade. A true hero, one devised by a master storyteller, needed to be unarmed and within a hair's width of death before victory could be achieved. It gave Kelton time.

"Corrigan drove his blade into the thigh of the beast. A yell, the likes of which the world had never heard, exploded from the hell spawned mouth."

The last three crates were dry of any rewards as well, though some salted pork made Kelton's mouth water. On a whim, he carefully lifted the lid off the water barrel and fished his hand in deep. It came back wet and empty. Coming up barren was depressing. Reassembling the wagon, putting everything back the way he found it gave him time to think. He had a small scare when he let go of a crate before it was fully seated. The sound was muffled by distance and Gossamer's words. Still, his heart lost a beat as he waited for a response that never came.

"The beast came forward, assured of its victory. Corrigan lay on the ground, his blade broken, with visions of his children's gruesome demise in his mind." Kelton was running out of time. All hope was lost for the hero, so it was time for Corrigan to shine and Kelton hadn't found anything worth their efforts. He crawled back up to the front and pulled back some of the furs. All the floorboards were intact, no hidden compartments. He began to think the family might have their valuables on them.

"The stone shattered under the beast's feet as he approached. It raised the hellfire mace above its head, and a sinister smile crossed its lips. The gates of hell were about to open."

In a panic, Kelton swept his hand under the buckboard itself. His fingers found a small pouch secured there, looped around an iron nail and slightly depressed in a knot hole. He silently chuckled to himself for wasting time with the rest of the wagon. Deftly, he unwound the leather strap and lowered the waist pouch to the fur. It was heavy with coin.

"Corrigan crawled backward like a crab desperately trying to move away from the fiend, his hands finding shards of broken rock that now littered the landscape. The demon growled and brought the mace down in a killing blow."

Kelton quickly separated the coins, gold from silver, silver from copper. The darkness was no hindrance to the task. He had practiced for years and could separate coin by weight or how they sounded when tapped together. It was a skill that Gossamer had drilled into him. Since they usually worked at night, it was required.

"Corrigan rolled to his side. The mace came down with such force, it dug deeply into the rock. Corrigan, with no choices left to him, threw a hand full of gathered rock shards into the eyes of the beast." 'Shards of rock - Ingenious,' Kelton thought. Gossamer always dreamt up a miraculous mechanism for his heroes to triumph.

The family was better off than Kelton had expected. He pulled a cloth from his pocket and spread it out next to the three piles of coin. Some quick calculations ran through my mind. Numbers were never difficult for him. Gossamer had seen fit to make it so. Three gold, two silver was nearly half, ignoring a few coppers. It was best if he left the smaller coins for weight. They never took more than half. Gossamer stressed that half wouldn't be noticed quickly and taking too much guaranteed that someone would come looking. Most people would consider it a hard learned lesson, happy they didn't lose it all.

"The beast let go of the buried mace and with a loud scream, covered its bleeding eyes. Corrigan moved quickly, retrieving his broken sword and driving the splintered shaft it into the side of the blinded demon."

Kelton moved smartly now, rolling the stolen coins into his cloth so they wouldn't make noise as he departed. It took only a moment to replace the untaken coins into the pouch and re-secure it under the buckboard. Gossamer was getting louder letting everyone know, especially Kelton, that the climax of the story was at hand. Quickly, he shimmied out of the wagon and crawled away toward the trees. The horse snorted at his retreat, but it was well covered by Gossamer's booming delivery.

The way became easier as foliage and distance hid Kelton's retreat. He moved through the woods, circling around back to the road so he could keep his bearings in the dark. Gossamer's voice faded away as he moved south toward their camp. A mark, carved lightly into the bark of a tree, told him where to turn back into the woods.

Once back, Kelton placed kindling over coals that had yet to go cold. He added larger wood as the flames ignited and sat back against a tree to wait until first light. Gossamer would stay with the family until then, not wanting them to grow suspicious.

Kelton smiled to himself. There was enough money in his pocket to pay for a few nights of a warm bed and hot food. They had been in a dry spell, few travelers of the right caliber passing through. Living in the forest was freedom, but a short stay in a town was a luxury if enjoyed in moderation. People to meet and conversation that differed from the norm. Kelton's youthful curiosity demanded the change of scenery. Of course, it did come with the unpleasantness of a bath and adherence to the Goddess's laws. It was the bath he dreaded most. The soap would wash off a well-earned layer of protective dirt. He would be itchy for hours and smell horribly like flowers. He smiled again. A small price to pay for clean sheets, real cooking, and someone to converse with besides Gossamer.