It was dawn when Gwennol rose, taking her bath in the lake and setting out a net to catch breakfast. She left the warrior to catch up on his rest as he seemed to have been up all night staying on guard. Though they were far from the ruins of her first camp, the sight of the rider that spied them must have been still in his mind. Cysgod soared overhead, the black shadow against the rose tinted sky. Once she was done, she sought her nets and found a large trout ensnared. With a small smile to herself, she brought it in, giving thanks to the Huntsman and to the fish before she smacked it in the head.
Pren sat slumped against the tree root, his head hung down as he is dozing with a light snore. Resting but remaining slightly alert when she returned. She shook her head slightly, pausing to watch him slumber before going to make breakfast. Gwennol used her small knife, gutting the large trout in a few swipes, tossing the innards for Cysgod who snapped them up with relish. She rubbed the flesh with herbs and set it above the smoky smoldering embers.
She let him sleep a little longer, though when she glanced his way she noticed his arms and legs twitching and his deep voice rumbling out a muttered word occasionally. The woman left him alone to continue her work and wiped her hands on some crushed fern leaves, their bright scent left on her skin. She laid some tightly curled fiddleheads near the fire on a stone before finally going to check on him. Silently she walked over, kneeling beside him and listened to the mumbled words.
Pren mumbled out words like, "Axe." "Fire." "Kill." "Flank." War words it seemed to Gwennol, as if he was giving orders to a group. Perhaps he was dreaming of a raid? Maybe the raid against her tribe. She shook her head, reminding herself that it was his father's tribe too and that Pren had been on more raids than he could likely recall. Gwennol leaned closer, her lips parted slightly in concentration and laid her hand gently on his forearm, whispering, "Pren..."
Pren lifted his head up quickly, breathing in deeply as he looked at his surroundings. He relaxed slightly as he realized where he was, leaning back into the root afterwards. Gwennol looked at him with some concern, "You dreamed. What was it?" She lifted her hand off of his arm when she saw he was awake, quickly putting it back in her lap.
Shifting against the tree, he grunted out the word, "Raid."
Gwennol nodded, tilting her head, wondering aloud, "I'm sure...is it memory or is it a vision of what might come?"
Pren pushed his bear hood back, shrugging his broad shoulders. "I have seen it before.. so memory."
Gwennol gazed at him, her murky blue eyes narrowing, "Not necessarily. The spirits show us visions of what might come, unless you recognize the village."
"It wasn't a village," he replied, looking at her. "A big stone wall, with statues of a horn blower. A large fortress."
Furrowing her brow, she looked past him, staring off into the distance. She was silent for a few moments and spoke, "In the south. Past the river, in the depths." She looked back at him, "There is such a place?" Her eye refocus on him, "I remember the dreams of my mentor."
"I have heard tales of it from the past," Pren said, shifting against the tree to be more comfortable.
"Forgoil." She stated the word quietly, the memory of the wrongs against their people were remembered well, passed down generation to generation in song and story, festival and sacrifice. "The Hammerhand who slew Freca, jealous of his claim. I remember the stories."
Pren nodded as he scratched his chin. "I dreamt I was there, fighting against them with many Dunlendings with me."
Gwennol frowned, staying quiet for a moment. "I am not a student of war but it has been many years since our people dared cross the Isen in any great number." She pulled her knees up to her chest, wrapping her arms around them, "Then it is a dream that is of the future, of what might come to pass. And it is no raid."
Pren nods his head, shifting his gaze away from her as he looked preoccupied out at the trees. Gwennol looked at him closely, "Do you dream of this often?" Her river colored eyes watched him as she tried to meet his dark gaze unsuccessfully, "What is it?"
"Sometimes. And it is nothing," he continued to look away from her, his brow slightly furrowed as he gazed at the underbrush.
Gwennol let go of her legs and shifted closer to him, bumping her knee against his,"You hold something back, why?"
Pren finally looked over to her, his face blank but for small furrow of the brows as usual. "It is nothing."
Gwennol looked at him for a long moment, "That mask might work with the Duvodiad but I am not one of them." She met his eyes, holding his gaze, "If you cannot speak to a Derudh of such matters then would could you?"
Pren replied, "Someone who would say what I saw is not true."
Gwennol raised her eyebrow at his comment, "I've seen things that would make a man's blood turn to water and his hair white. I've stood before Rhi Helvarch Himself. There are more things in this world than the eye can see." She reached and touched his hand, her small white fingers gripping the thick calloused digits,"I would not doubt you, Pren."
Pren let out a huff of air, slightly annoyed. "Then I saw my death. Stabbed through the heart by a flax-hair's blade. Left to burnt in the smoky wreck of a field."
Gwennol watched his face as he spoke and nodded slowly, her hand tightening on his, "Then it is vision granted to you, one that shows your fate if you travel the path you are on."
Thinking it over for a moment, Pren said nothing until a low grumble came from him.
Leaning in closer, she asked, "What?"
Pren sat up and shook his head slightly, 'Nothing. Nothing."
Reaching up, she cupped his bearded cheek, turning him to look at her, "You've gone this far, tell me what are you thinking."
Pren tried his best to not look her in the eyes, "I killed alot before I died. It might be worth staying on this path."
Gwennol held his face, her touch light but firm, keeping him from turning away, "Yes, you have killed many. Those that deserved it and those perhaps that did not." She tilted her head, trying to capture his gaze, "But in your heart, do you feel your only fate in this world is to fight and die?"
Pren looked her in the eye as he thought, finally speaking, "I have not much else for me."
Gwennol met his eyes, "All you've ever done is fight, Pren. You fight for what?" She watched him as he answered, her fingers still on his cheek.
"Fun and for our old land,' he replied simply.
Gwennol shook her head slightly, "For our land...for The Huntsman. For our people. Our ways." She touched her thumb to his chin, "And you are a powerful warrior. Do men follow you?"
"When I tell them to," he said.
Gwennol moved her hand away, pressing her lips together, "But do they follow you, because of fear or because you inspire them? No man can just tell a Dunlending what to do, except if he is Brenin."
Pren said, "When I raid, they follow my orders because if they do not they will get a worse fate than death."
Gwennol leaned on her hand, unsure of the thought that now sparked to life in her head. "It is hidden, I do not know but perhaps once we return to Dunland I will consult the spirits. Perhaps they will show me."
Pren nodded his head before he spoke a small smile on his lips. "You spoke of Brenins. If you think I could be one, you forgot something. I have no clan."
Gwennol peered at him, "You know our ways, they are dear to you. You know our stories. Men follow you, by fear and respect for your prowess." She reached up, brushing a leaf from the fur of his armor, "Many clans will be bled dry before this is over...new clans may be formed." She met his gaze, "A man could make his own clan but he must be strong of will and fierce but also clever."
He rubbed his bearded chin, 'The main clans are too strong for a single man to take over. But the smaller ones.. perhaps I could take that over. But I could not run a clan alone..." Pren's eyes look over her briefly, nodding to her afterwards.
Gwennol tilted her head in thought, "One could take over a small clan or form his own, many will lose their families, many will be driven from their tribes if they do not agree with the Brenin. In Enedwaith, there are more and more algraig, people clinging together without strong, wise leaders. Only lead by strong men who kill without thinking. You could be more than that. A leader needs those that would aid him, advise him." She shifted on the ground, her hands in her lap. "Those that would support him no matter what." She met his gaze and then dropped her eyes to her amulet, fingering the antler tine carved with the symbol of Rhi Helvarch.
"Then once and -if- I get a clan. I will go to Enedwaith, and take a few of the outcasts and bring them back. Dunlendings belong in Dunland," Pren looked to her afterwards, "And you think you could do those things?"
"You would need a Derudh," she stated plainly, dropping the pendant against her chest where it rattled against the boar tusks. "Of course, a Brenin would take a wife, have children... you would have your pick among the women who would join you." She looked at him and away quickly, "Many that are beautiful and strong."
"Not all other women are derudhs and not that many are as wise," he said, looking at her.
Gwennol bit her lip slightly, "I...this is unexpected. You are asking me to be your wife, Pren?" She looked at his chest and finally up to his face.
Pren took in a deep breath, raising his shoulders up slightly before letting them fall. "If I am to take a clan for myself, I will need one. And I cannot think of any better than you."
Gwennol furrowed her brow slightly, "I never expected it, to be a wife. I was just to serve Rhi Helvarch, the Derudh...I'm afraid I would have much to learn." She shifted her gaze away, watching the bushes sway slightly in the breeze, "About being a wife."
"I imagine it is not that hard to learn," he said, looking away from her now.
Gwennol blushed and then tucked a long lock of her chestnut hair behind her ear, "Well...I suppose not. I just..." She pulled her knees up to her chest. "Did you know when you wished to do this?"
Pren shrugged his shoulders once again. "Either when we return to Dunland or now, I do not know."
Gwennol put her arms around her knees, her face reddening, "Perhaps it would be best to wait in case...in case I were to get with child." She cleared her throat and looked away, suddenly interested in the doings of a pair of robins hopping on a tree branch.
Pren nodded his head before he leaned back on the root, scratching his chin as he looked to the sky.
Gwennol peered at him, "I never..." She stopped and huffed a breath, "You've had many women?"
Pren replied, 'Not really, no. And you never what?'
Gwennol rubbed a hand over her face. The memory was not one she wished to bring up but it would rise to the surface of her mind unbidden many times and this would be one of them. The night of the raid, the fires and the screams. The strong arm around her waist and the burning pain. "My only experience with a man..." She took a breath, her eyes unfocused as she remembered, "Was that warrior who tried to take me...he forced me..." She bit her quivering lip and frowned, "I was just past thirteen summers, I'd just had my blood." Her face turned away, her voice hardly more than a whisper, "I called to Rhi Helvarch to save me and I saw the shadows of great antlers in the moonlight, among the leaves. The man saw them too and he fled in fear of my prayers, before he could leave his seed in me." She hunched her slim shoulders, "I swore I would serve Rhi Helvarch then."
Pren nodded slightly, staying silent about her experience and shifted the subject, "I have only seen the Hunstman once before. The derudh's called him one night before our first raid on the Horse-Lands. He appeared in the smoke and fire, dancing about with other spirits."
Gwennol picked up her head, looking at him. She could not read the hard panes of his face under the thick beard and wondered at what he thought but she did not ask, "I will consult the spirits, they will tell us if you are meant to be Brenin. I think you could though. There are many now without a leader."
The young woman fingered the edge of her robe, "Once we are in Enedwaith, it is there they could hear me."
"And if they say against it?" he said after a moment of silence.
Gwennol took a deep breath, sighing softly in resignation, "Then you will die a glorious death against the Forgoil and I will spend my long years among the stones and trees, to live alone with only the ghosts to keep me company."
Glancing at her, Pren said, "Then let us hope they are for it."
