Regnwald

She rode toward the gates with last light of sun that was traveling behind the Misty Mountains and Cuthstan. Guard on the doors stopped her, unrelentless to let her in, as at first they didnt recognise her.

- I need to speak with Dryhten or Maegisterwigends. - she spoke as jumping down from her steed, Her heavy chain mail reinforced with plates of iron, clanked loudly 

- Gates are closed, rider. Wait till the dawn. - one of the guards said.

T'was a long night in Stangard, night before a battle and the Mead-hall of the village was full with bold-hearted Eorlings, from son to father and warrior to herdsman. They were invited by Dryhten. Bards were singing their songs of war and ancestors and playing on gilded lyres. The tables were lined with food and the pig roast turned over the pit, its juices falling into the fire with a sizzle. There was people sitting, standing, in corners and among the open spaces. Not a single space was empty.

Régnwald walked along the edge of Stangard village, looking over...

...some Eorlings making adjustments to their weapons, one mending his jerkin, another whittling a fish from wood.

He passed an old shed, only to find Thorkel on the other side, kissing a young Stangard widow.

Régnwald watched a moment more than he otherwise might briefly transfixed, he turned away then continued on over to a field, where Hondscioh and Elfgast were practising sword-play.

She walked gracefully back to her room, her faked smile turning back into a worrisome scowl. And the room was not her room; it was a spare guest room of the Mead Hall. Her house was temporarily given to a woman that was not even supposed to be in Stangard. Her close friend, Cynebur, had left Forlaw to check on them and in the meantime, ran into a growing camp of orcs. That left Céolswith lying on her back in bed, which was uncomfortable in her mind, and staring at the ceiling while her recently broken nose throbbed and ached in pain from being broken in a sparring match.