4 Trust

Kindel watched on as the pair arrived too late to stop the the pint size burglars. He leaned his weight onto his paws, ready to move dependent on what happened next. The two of them were clearly more than they seemed.

Shouting. Demanding. Insisting. But no threatening. And the Angel Marbles were gone once again.

Well. That was two deaths Outpost would be spared. They would want an explanation, of course.

Jacques stormed back, stomping louder than was probably necessary. Mrs. Trufflebottom followed. "Alright. You kept us talking long enough for them to rob us. What's going on? What is this place?!"

Kindel gestured to their seats. "If you would."

"Absolutely not."

"You were robbed by children. They are homeless. They are parentless. And they are likely near starving. Does that change how you feel?"

"You just sat there and watched them!" Jacques accused.

"I couldn't stop them from here," he replied slowly. "More importantly, if I had tipped you off to their activities, I wasn't sure how you would have handled it."

"You thought we would attack them," Mrs. Trufflebottom said flatly. 

Kindel looked back through the door. Sure enough, there was at least one set of eyes visible looking back at him near the cart. The Angel Marbles had returned to listen.

"I thought there was a good chance you might, yes."

"That's not who we are.

"I have no basis for knowing that." Kindel shifted in his chair, somehow making himself appear even larger in the dim lighting. "Trust is something that died out years ago here, along side its best friend Hope. If you want to get your stuff back, though, I suggest showing those kids both of those things."

"Where can we find them?

"They sleep wherever is warm and convenient for the night. Some of us are pretty understanding of their situation. But on the other paw most of the town sees them as scavengers and thieves. So, they don't trust easily, and wherever they do stay, they don't stay long."

Mrs. Trufflebottom frowned, "That's a horrible way to live."

"Which do you mean? Stealing food by day, and sleeping on cold wet doorsteps by night? Or refusing to give up your freedom to go live with someone openly hostile to you?"

Jacques sank deeper into his chair at face of the moral dilemma. Mrs. Trufflebottom didn't even twitch. "You know I meant both. They deserve better than all of this." She began pacing the room, inspecting his belongings again, looking for the inspiration. "Clearly they trust *you* - don't bother denying it. Who else do they trust here? Who else is willing to help them?"

Kindel cleared his throat. "It sounds like you are."

Mrs. Trufflebottom inclined her head toward Jacques. He nodded his unspoken agreement. "If we are? What then?"

"Then keep talking, friend," and there was no mistaking, this time, Kindel's steady gaze through the doorway. "Your audience is listening."

*****

Then.

Though the sun was near to setting, the relatively still air retained much of the day's heat, making the evening that much more comfortable. Outpost wasn't lacking in a nightlife, either - families ate dinner together outside, couples walked hand-in-hand past him up the sidewalk, children ran freely up and down the road playing. Several gave the newcomer a looking over, but most were content to carry on.  

Kindel observed them as he walked from the restaurant. There was such a sense of safety in being able to do this. That type of thing works well in small towns and tight knit communities. It doesn't last when too many outsiders start arriving. Another reason he was surprised by their enthusiasm for tourism.

His eyes locked onto a couple sitting on the lawn in front of their home for some reason. They had a young one between them barely old enough to walk. He watched as she toddled about and they laughed and the little one laughed.  

They must have seen him staring, he did stand out like a dove at a crows reunion. The mother waved at him, and the father helped the little one to wave. Like a puppet on a string he returned the gesture, smiling dumbly before finding his pace again and continuing down the path.

Perplexed by the encounter, he almost missed that he had arrived.

Selena and Kipper's. 

*****

Now.

Being a tinkerer all of his life, eager to probe and observe the workings of the objects around him, and then later an inventor of his own unique creations, Jacques could be said to be a Mousefolk of extreme patience. In that moment, in a unfamiliar town that had started with gloom and precipitation, and led to a sleepless night of being robbed, Jacques was anything but patient.

He twisted in his seat and made to spring toward the door, but only managed to wrap his own robe around his leg and send his body sailing toward the floor; arms splayed in one direction while his glasses cast off in the other. With grace that defied her mood, Mrs. Trufflebottom scooped to help him to his feet again.

"Not me -" he sputtered. "Go after them! Before they get away again!"

"Shh" holding her paw to her face for added effect. "Look."

Their positions had changed slightly but he could still see shadowed forms watching him from outside the building. Were the waiting? "I guess let's go see what they want then." A thought occurred to him as he addressed Kindel over his shoulder, this time making sure not to lose eye contact. "Are you coming with us?"

"I have to stay here. But if they want you to find them, you will."

Annoyed with these games and upright once again, Jacques began a steady pace toward the doorway. He stepped out into the rain again as his eyes adjusted to the reduced lighting. He picked out three distinct, small forms, well bundled, looking at him. Without any command he could identify the forms suddenly dispersed. For a moment he was afraid he'd lost them, but then was able to see the same three - further away now, one behind a barrel, one on a rooftop, one hiding behind a curtain in a ground floor building.   

They hadn't disappeared. It was to be a chase.  

They might not be prepared for the likes of Jacques and Mrs Trufflebottom.