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.
