A small gray figure flew across the windswept plains of tall grass. The guards were clearly expecting a visit as the gates were opened long before she rode through them. The stallion circled fiercely by the stables, before it’s owner pulled it into an abrupt halt. For a moment the gray clad woman simply sat in her saddle, panting. The tall horse under her was staggering, it’s nostrils flared and it’s breaths loud and heavy.
With an exhausted yet determinate sigh the woman slid off the saddle to save the horse from her weight. Yet when her own feet met the ground, her trembling legs failed to carry her weight. She collapsed in the care of the ground, lying gracefully on her back in the mud.
She was Faerhild, daughter of Radwine and she was dirty, sweaty and breathing like a drowning man. All she could hear was the fierce beating of her heart. The world was spinning fast so she closed her eyes to freeze it’s movement - only to find out that the darkness could swirl as well.
Two guards ran to meet her. One stared at her wide-eyed. ”Where is Arewe?” The woman opened her eyes, swiping slowly a palm across her exhausted features before sighing out her words, ”He died.” The guard’s expression grew grim, yet his words were swift, ”How many?” She looked vacantly up at the gray sky, ”Fifty.” The other guard knelt by her side, ”And how far?” She looked into his blue eyes, ”A day’s journey. I rode the nights to buy you the time.”. "Are you certain about all of this?", one of the guards inquired with a tone filled with haste. The question forced moist in her eyes, but her words came strong, "I am certain about all of this." The guard who was standing, nodded, sprinting to meet his captain. The other guard gripped her arm and squeezed her shoulder in a sign of gratitude offered to loyal Kinsmen. And then, he too ran away to share the news with those who were guarding the gates.
She lied there, alone. Embrace of the cold ground had never felt better, yet after regaining her thoughts midst the swirling encampment, she pushed herself to sit. The Stablehand was staring at her. She stared at him back with dim eyes. After a while she found some words, which she sighed in tired tones, ”Can you ask the Stable Master to put fresh shoes on Gewind? See that he rests and is fed and watered before that.” The boy nodded, and she added, ”I need this done before the sunrise.” The woman pushed herself to stand, although her stance was nothing but stable, her form barely held straight by her trembling legs.
She turned away from the Stablehand and headed behind the nearest building. Shielded by the house, she pressed the top of her head against it's wall, looking down at the ground. Quiet tears watered the dry grass.
