A quick-mannered fist knocked the wooden door for three times. Then once more, after a little while. He then opens his eyes, icy blue eyes but tired and still sleepy. With a slow tug against the covers, he swats a feminine, fragile arm of off his chest, but careful enough to not to wake. Yet it would be unlikely for the night passed on a gallop and strong and exhausting.
Deorcred rose on his foot soon and stretched his body before draped his wide shoulders with the covers that he tugged away before. He took three long steps in the small room towards the wooden door and opened it only a little with a quiet creak. He drifted some of his blond locks over his ear and took a glance at the disturber.
'' Hurry up! We got a contract. '' said no one but one another soldier of fortune, seemed rather looking forward to it. But Deorcred did not share the same idea, he just shook his head slowly and pushed the door to close with a muttering, '' Nay... '' yet the Southron was pertinacious and tried to resist the door, '' Lot's of silver and gold, Northerner! '' he called from the small gap. Deorcred did not like that, not one bit. With an headache from last night's drinks, he shouted, '' Piss off! '' and shut the door close.
He had money, he took his toll a lot from that path. He was richer than most would think, thus he did not bother this time, or anymore. He walked back to the bed, he sat on the edge. His long and strong arm reached for the tankard that stood half-empty over the tripod near by, he necked it in a go. He rose once again and scratched his straw-coloured hair, something bothered his mind this morn. He dipped his head into the nearby water bucket then washed his face.
He tied his hair as he sat on the ground, staring into the once dancing now fading flames in the fireplace. Woods in the fire made less sound now, and his female friend was still asleep. Then he understood in silence that it was not his mind, but his heart was restless. He sat there for a few more minutes, thinking of what it would be like leaving a place once again.
Nonetheless he marched towards his armoury in the small room, he geared up, like someone ordered him to do so. Yet it was no one but his innermost thoughts. His conscience scourged him and his heart ushered. He walked beside to the woman in the bed, and arranged ten silver coins in a row, '' For your trouble... '' he murmured and left the room.
With his plumed steel helmet underneath his arm, Deorcred strode towards the stable, taking a seat onto the saddle of his great mare, he rode away from the sea and took the south wind on his back. He managed to the five-river's path, following up to the North. With small breaks and silent and hidden sleeps, he made his way to the Mark. But he halted, tired, once his piercing eyes darted onto Meduseld.
