Few days has passed since Æbbe’s return to Forlaw, which gave him plenty of opportunity to talk to those which faces have aged by the time he was away.
An evening in the Reeve’s hall, he was asked like a bard to share with those invited to feast his tales of the lands around them and his journey.
Æbbe smiled kindly to the Reeve and his Kin always sitting in the end of the hall, lifting up the mug in respect. For such honors is something one cannot refuse or should.
He pushed himself up, making way into the center of the hall with the fire pits on either side reflects his body in dramatic shadows upon the darkened ceiling as he told about his travels, moving around to each table with a intense gaze in his eyes, laughter, sorrow and smiles.
Æbbe suddenly froze with a gentle smirk as his stare moved from the people around him to the floor. Despite all his time away, he smoke with less vigour but with honest brutal truth in his voice about a Mægden, skin as the first new fallen snow, eye’s with the colour of the Balewood tree tops and long flowing red hair which can outmatch his own. He suddenly without being aware fell silent of such mentions as the people around him mutters in the corner, to his luck the Reeve stood up making a small toast. Saving Æbbe’s face for this moment of weakness.
Recognizing this he managed to break the spell he had found himself under, lifting the mug towards the Reeve and his kin, dipping his head in gratitude for the save. An unspoken oath could been briefly witnessed before he found himself returning to his own seat, enjoying the rest of the evening in his own thoughts of the Mægden living in the south.
Picture by Angelcynn Heall ~ English Nation Hall
