It was the noontime of the fourth day. The night gave rise to new warmth. Though the wind was chill, the sun blessed the land with its rays. The men of the Mark were glad of it. They felt their bones thaw and their hands strengthen. Their hearts were lightened further in the end of a night filled with high spirits and laughters near a warm hearth.
Régnwald paced through the high-arched door with steady steps, his shoulders unbowed. Outside the Mead Hall, Ulcwine was waiting for him.
''I hate to leave this place, so soon, but I cannot deny that my heart desires to see the Snowbourne. We have been kept long away from our houses. Too long,'' Ulcwine confessed.
''Aye,'' Régnwald agreed. ''My sister will greet me warmly this time, I think.''
Ulcwine laughed, ''As I recall, you brought her wrath on yourself, my friend.''
Régnwald smirked, and clutched his chest, ''I brought her wrath? Nay, man, it was her own misjudgment of time that wrought her distress. She believed my return to be a week later. 'Tis no fault of mine that I saw her gift early.''
''But it is fault of yours that you received an unfinished tunic!''
Régnwald gave his hands to the air, and relented, ''Yes, yes, but I care not. I rather prefer a shirt without my sister's embroidery. Have you ever felt them? Itchy and course as a hog's nose!'' He shuddered at the thought.
Ulcwine have a laugh, but quickly cleared his throat, ''My lord, you should not insult her. Her ears may find it.''
Régnwald rose a brow, ''And who would tell her?'' He let the question hang, before adding, ''And what would happen to the unfortunate man that did so?''
''...No one, my lord,'' Ulcwine coughed, bouncing his heels. Both men were smirking again. It was good fun to jest, as they often did. Régnwald was glad to have a patrol leader that spoke plainly with him. He gave his friend a good slap on the shoulder and took to the stairs and into Mead Hall to drink some mead before they set off for Snowbourne.
