Wulfrieda

Three little birds. How charming.

My golden-haired Gyth, a little Linnet, a Nightingale. A sweet voice, sweet temper and as temptingly innocent as daisy.

Kicking m' heels in Bree. Gyth's Burnt Man ain't finished yet. Feh. He gives me one o' His looks and affore I realise it I'm saying yes, I'll be back tomorrow. So here's me, sitting with a flat pint o' ale with no coin fer much fun, while he sits warm an' well fed in the Word-horde.

Well ain't this lovely. First that trip westwards lookin' for Thurbrand, fallin' in the lake and endin' up stayin' in a camp full o' Breelendings and a bossy holbytla 'cause Albert wouldn't let me travel while I still had a cold... and now this. I was just gettin' used to that nasty inn - beer was piss, but at least the beds in the cellar were outta the wind - and now we go traipsin' EAST! And I'm stuck sleepin' in some soggy ol' bunkbeds with a bunch of raggedy strangers...