Ysbrydnos, Night of the Spirits

Canwr, Cerrynt, Danhadlen, Gryffudd, Morydd, and Muirne at the rites for the Dunlendings' most sacred evening and new year: Ysbrydnos.

Canwr |The air was crisp, as ever, in the Lich Bluffs, The ancient tombs of long-dead Brenins. elders and those unnamed from a time beyond stood silent and watchful over rolling hills and crags. In that silence stood Canwr, robes adorned with trinket, brooch and intricate embroidery. His face was hidden by the visage of a raven skull in pale wych elm and a hood of dark feathers. Only his arms were bare, and even those were covered in whirling patterns of blue and red. "Follow me, children of the hills." He raised his arms, a staff of yew in his right. His voice was muffled, but came clear enough in the still air. "I ask all of you, as we maake our way about the sanctuary, to remember those who have gone before, near and far into the darkness. Honour the spirits of your tribes, and all those of our people." He paused then, looking about them from the dark eyepieces in the mask. "Follow me in silent precession about this sanctuary and take your places." His staff lowered, thumping into the ground once before he began.

Danhadlen nodded, keeping quiet, for once.

Canwr |As the group came to a standstil the seer raised his arms outstretched once more. About the clearing skins had been laid as well as a few tables and an unlit fire at the centre. Nearby upon the crags surrounding the glow of fires could be seen however but all was still dark and quiet in the glade. "We are here..." He began, voice unearthly beneath that mask. "To observe the turning of the year, to honour the ancestors who on thios night drift close to their old homes, and keep a watch on the living whose warm blood comes from theirs, which has long returned to dust and earth." The man paused as lowered the staff. "It is those sp[irits we must honour, for as we look to the Huntsman to keep the darkest of our foes at bay, we look fo our forebears for guidance in our actions, thoughs and deeds." He stopped again, looking about the group. "We ask that they intercede on our behalf in the lands beyond sight." His voice dipped now, it's tone kinder. "But we also celebrate them, and the year we have survived and thrived in as well as the year to come when winter has been weathered and spring welcomed..."

Gryffudd lumbered behind them in rhythm, silent behind the cloth that served as his mask. Eagle feathers were sewn into the wolf-fur on his shoulders, bestowed on him in another, smaller ritual before the kinspeople were gathered.

Cerrynt is approaching the sanctuary carrying a large oilcloth over her shoulder bearing something nearly as large as she is. Not far outside, she stops, frowning, having heard some of the words from within. She lets the oilcloth sink to the grass, opens it, and fishes around for a smaller oilcloth bag, from which she draws a crude, makeshift mask.

Canwr fell silent for a time, before continuing. "It is now then, in sight of our ancestors, that I invite each of you to make your peace, empty your hearts of whatever sorrow, regret or anguish is there. Apologise to a neighbour, make a promise or honour one no longer with us. I invite you to clear the air." He looked about those gathered. "Would any here care to begin?"

Danhadlen nodded solemnly, whatever look was on her face completely hidden by the elaborate mask. Her eyes looked around to the fires for a moment, and lit on the shape of the new arrival, but did not linger.

Cerrynt pulls the mask on. It's little more than a bit of oilcloth torn off, to which a boar's tusks have been crudely fastened, wrapped around her head so as not to cover her eyes or broken nose, and tied under her chin. She pulls the oilcloth back around its contents, hefts it, and strides into the sanctuary, head held high.

Danhadlen ponders, then shrugs. 'Burying a husband and the last of three children is never easy, but the peace has been made, I think.'

Canwr slowly bowed his head as the masked woman spoke, remaining silent beyhind the dark eyeholes of the mask.

Gryffudd bowed his head for Danhi's loss as he took careful steps inside himself toward a secret. He lifted his head, and it was a strong voice he raised. "I make a promise," he said, gripping his hand in a fist. "To keep our foes the Draig-lûth away from our doorstep, to protect our people. I devote myself this year as every year to the Eryr-lûth and the good cause we fight for—a whole, unfractured Dunland. I swear we will be strong again."

Morydd stepped forward, twirling the cord around her throat until it fell from her throat and hung from her hand. She held it out to the air, and the small bone that hung from it swayed slowly with a weight it should not carry. She looked past it for a moment, and said only, "All is as it should be," before lowering it to unwind and free her hand from the cord.

Danhadlen bowed her head in turn to her brother's declaration. Yes, it was the same as before, but no less sincere for that, and she knew it.

Canwr took the chance to speak up. "I would like to apologise to Gryffudd Ap Glyndwr, I know my petitions of him wear his ears like a quern upon wheat, but I hope he knows why." He cast a quick glance at the heir to the Eagle clan. "But none the less, I am sorry for the burden of it."

Cerrynt seems a bit ill at ease and taken aback by Canwr's question. She lugs her oilcloth burden to the fire and sets it down there. She turns to the others then and says, in a voice that betrays her youth but as if it did not, "I promise to reclaim the honor of the Dwrgi-lûth before we are lost."

Danhadlen pondered the odd-to-her actions of the woman she didn't know, but nodded to it anyway. It was not her place to question someone's dealing with the ancesotrs. The more standard declaration of the newest arrival got her attention after, but again, it was not her time to question. But take note, she did.

Gryffudd looked over at Canwr, his eyes steady above his mask, and accepted with a nod. "And I do not often say, but I do weigh it, for heavy is his advice."

Gryffudd turned to nod to the stranger from the Dwrgi-lûth. Too far apart were their tribes to have much contact, but friend or enemy, he welcomed them to share this night of peace.

Cerrynt steps around the oilcloth and closer to the circle of others; as she does, the boar's tusks tilt and careen about as they're just barely held in place and have nothing to keep them pointing the proper direction.

Canwr strode then into the middle of the circle, turning to meet the face of each Dunlending who stood about him. "I hear you, folk of Dunland, I hear your promises of strength and your search for honour." The yew staff thudded into the ground. "I challange you, as is tradition on this night!" He near growled the words, distorted behind the wood of the mask. "A challenge, in sight of our ancestors, who even now whirl about us unseen!" The staff raised toward the crags about them. As if by command, wind moaned through those rocks. "A challenge to prove yourself worhy of your clan, of your people." He stalked the circle now. "I have meditated on this, a day and a night by the fire speaking to those without ears, listening to those without voices and have a task to lay upon you..." He withdrew a little, raising his arms once more. "For any who wish the favour of the ancestors, to honour them, you will ride across the Isen to the horse farms of the Forgoil." He near spat the name of the hated foe. "There you will steal away with a number of their beasts, the best you can find and ride to Freasburg." The unfamiliar town's name sour and twisted in the seer's mouth. "Within sight of those walls and beneath the cloak of night, you shall tie those beasts to the banner of Wulf, and this you shall do with as little shed blood as possible, to show them even in the coldest and darkest of times that while our warbands have shrunk, our reach is as long as it was in the time of the great Wulf." He lowered the staff once more, and shook himself as if coming from a daze. "This shall be done within the next two moons, before the spring thaws, which of you will pledge yourself to this?"

Gryffudd 's eyes crimped at their edges as he smiled. "I will pledge to it," he declared, firm and proud. "I will remind those people that their beds are not safe."

Cerrynt runs a finger along the broken curve of her nose, still a bit swollen. "I have heard of the beasts of the Forgoil, and seen them, but the Dwrgi-lûth have no cause to ride them. But I will pledge to this nonetheless."

Danhadlen pondered a bit, then nodded with a soft, affirming grunt. 'It sounds like something I can truly help with, and not be a burden in.'

Gryffudd 's head turned briskly to Danhadlen, but he said nothing.

Morydd had lifted her chin slightly as the challenge had been spread before them, clearly pleased as her eyes shone with approval, and flashed at the foe's name tossed in the mud. "I will not," she said in a measured voice without shame, "But I will carry your words to one who might."

Canwr |The smile was evident now beneath the mask. "The otter has no need to be atop a horse to bite one." Voice raised, as did the staff. "So it shall be done then, your ancestors will watch and lend you their strength for the task." He paused, dark gaze turning to the unlit pyre. "It is now then, that we see the new year in with death and life, blood fire and feast, bring forth the bull, the first of the winter cattle to give it's life so that we might cling to it until spring!"

Muirne |Bells accompanied the clopping of hooves as figure, robed richly in blacks and blues, led forward a bull on its robe. Its horns had been bound and painted, and the last flowers of the season were woven into a wreath around its neck. The woman stopped when she reached Canwr and bowed to him, holding out the ribboned rope with both hands.

Canwr bowed twice. First to the woman in a mask to match his, and then to the bull as he took the plaited rope. "Gryffudd ap Glyndwr, as you gifted this bull to us, I ask that you take up a weapon, and end this year with one clean swing." The words drew slowly from his mouth, and the seer stepped aside to allow the man access to the beast.

Morydd poured her gaze over the bull passed her side, eyeing the breath from his nostrils, the flick of his ears, the muscles quivering under his hide with each step of his final moments.

Muirne stepped back, melting into the tapestry of masks around her.

Gryffudd picked up an ax from where it had been placed before the ceremony. He stepped up to the bull and echoed Canwr's bow. Then with one swing to mach the clean arc of the moon, he brought its silver head down on the bull between the horns. It dropped the same moment, the axe striking true.

Cerrynt watches attentively and reverently, at least as reverently as a girl her age can, which does involve a little bit of fidgeting.

Canwr stepped close as it was done, a blade emerging from the folds of his robe. Kneeling in the dirt next to the felled beast he plunged it into the creatures throat, blood draining into a small bowl plucked from the grass nearby. Setting it aside he turned, as a young boy who followed Muirne into the clearing with a torch. He exchanged the bowl for it and turned. "We thank the bull for his blood, from it we take nourishment as it's flesh is given to salt and smoke, to sustain us through the year to come." Bowing his head to both Muirne and the lad he gestured about the circle. "I ask that one of you take this torch and light the fire, and begin the new year as we end our ceremony.

Danhadlen nods in respect for the spirit of the bull.


Gryffudd looked down at the bull, which would feed many for days, and tried not to think on the hungry hours in the months to come.

Danhadlen looked and pondered, then moved up to take the torch.

Canwr handed the torch with a bow to the woman, gesturing toward the unlit pyre.

Gryffudd stepped back from the logs stacked atop the earth and smiled to watch his sister.

Danhadlen nodded and reverently took it over to light the flame.

Danhadlen sets kindling alight.

Morydd reluctantly tore her eyes from the blood soaking the earth around the crumpled bull to follow the pillar of smoke as it reached to the stars above them. Her gaze was glassy and a grin she'd forgotten about still spread on her face.

Canwr |The fire, soaked in oil and fat hissed and spat to life, soon catching and growing. Setting the staff aside, the seer slowly raised his hands to his head and pulled the mask free, shaking away damp strands of dark hair from eyes darker still, painted with charcoal. "Welcome friends, to the new year, now I ask you to feast, be merry and honour your ancestors in your own way." With that men and women appeared from the Sanctuary's entrance, two bearing a large cauldron that steamed. Others brought in platters of bread, cheese and meats. Another with stakced cups and trenchers, setting them about the skins and tables. "Refresh yourselves, chase the chill from your bones, tell stories and sing songs." He took a cup, nimbly dipping it into the steaming cauldron as it passed and raised it to those gathered.

Cerrynt turns her gaze from the bull to a slow turn around the sanctuary, gazing up at trees as if trying to make out the spirits surrounding them.

Danhadlen nodded again, and finally raised her hands to begin removing her own mask. It took her a bit of work, as she'd attached it perhaps too well, with all the pieces of bone making up its frame.

Gryffudd stepped back, letting the others have their first drink of the new year. He tugged off his mask and carefully folded it, laying it out of the way on a table slowly filling with baskets of bread and pitchers of cider. He watched as the bull was taken away to be bled and butchered.

Cerrynt watches the feast brought out, wide-eyed, then glances askance at the oilcloth bundle she left not far from the fire. A moment of doubt crosses her expression but is gone almost as it arises. "I had opportunity to bring boar I hunted on the way here, which I offer on behalf of the Dwrgi-lûth for this gathering, though I did not have time to roast it." She crosses to the bundle.

Muirne stepped back, taking a quiet seat by herself, her role fulfilled.

Canwr grinned, winking at Cerrynt. "The boar is most welcome here, as are you."

Danhadlen nodded as she got her mask situated. 'A most welcome addition, even so. I will help with preparing it, if you like.'

Cerrynt smiles, and nods. "I confess I have little skill in roasting of such beasts. My clan lives on fish, but I am far from any rivers now and must make do."

Gryffudd set himself the task of pouring wooden cups of cider as the masks and ceremony were shed. "Save one, very wide, very important river," he chuckled. "If we could fish it without earning arrows from the other side."

Cerrynt glances to the southeast as if expecting the river to have snuck up on her. "Have I come that far, then?"

Danhadlen nodded with a soft chuckle and a welcoming smile. 'Indeed. But as there is a boar here, now, we can fish later.'

Canwr sighed, taking up his own cider cup and a piece of meat from a nearby platter. "The Forgoil could use some holes put in their little fishing boats, if you felt like doing that on your way to fetch their horses."

Gryffudd shook his head. "We are not so near it now as we will be when we cross it." He crossed the gathering, first offering a cup to Canwr, the second to his sister.

Morydd turned from the settling feast and strayed to the small pool under the trees, gleaming with firelight on its black surface. She knelt and dipped her hands in the water, simply rinsing herself up her bare arms. Another pass with her hands she spread over her face. Her black hair dripped near her brow, and her tunic wore splashes of water as she stood.

Canwr took the cup with a small smile, raising it to the Brenin's son. "Well struck there with that axe, a good omen eh?"

Danhadlen nodded as she moved to help with moving the beast. 'Awl and hammer to be added to the things to carry, then. Though perhaps best done on the way back, as it will make noise.'

Cerrynt shakes her head, causing the boar-tusks to sway menacingly close to her broken nose. "Well, half a boar. I have been some days making my way here and left hastily, without provisions."

Gryffudd 's eyes raised to the quiet woman, easing his pricks of curiosity. Instead he turned to Canwr, looking at ease for the first time since the summer skirmishes began. "You know how I feel about omens, Canwr." He turned to the Dwrgi in their midst. "I thank you, for the boar and for your boast."

Danhadlen chuckled again. 'Still a contribution to welcome, where we hadn't looked for one. And a good job on your part.'

Canwr looked hurt. "Come now my prince, omens are what I am about, I'd be a poor seer if I didn't listen to them now and then and Hunstman forbid try to impart them upon you." He grinned broadly. "But as I say, well struck."

Cerrynt says simply, "I am glad to be able to offer something." She crouches and unfolds the oilcloth revealing about a half-boar, properly cleaned, butchered, and bled. She follows the other woman's lead on how to further cut and roast it. "Though I should not say I represent the Dwrgi-lûth, as I come without the blessing of our champion or his brenin."

Gryffudd half-listened to the story being shared over boar meat, though he still spoke to Canwr. "Omens have their ways of saying one thing, and meaning another. Not unlike yourself, sometimes."

Danhadlen nodded a few times, prompted both by the good condition of the carcass, and the words. She made some guide cuts with her long-knife for further butchering. 'Seems you have quite a tale you could share of your reason for journeying then, should you choose.'

Canwr laughed. "The spirits can pull up your shirt and unfasten your belt but they cannot piss for you my lord, sometimes we must search for the meanings." He spoke knowing full well that it did not answer the man's accusation. Instead of elaborating he turned, speaking to the pair at the side of the boar. "All are welcome here, and you need represent anybody but yourself as this is not some high ceremony in Galtrev." He smiled then. "And the telling of your tale would be welcome here."

Danhadlen chuckled, nodding, and added, 'Such sharing would be welcome, but there is no demand, nor does it affect your welcome.'

Cerrynt nods. "Is indeed a feast such as this the right time for such a tale?" From so close, Danhadlen could see that the swelling of her nose is not the only injury she bears; there are bruises all over her body, turning from purple to yellow now, though she moves as if unhurt, or just refusing to allow herself to show it.

Gryffudd snorted to think on that beacon of civilization. He took the moment's distraction to pick up two more cups, and crossed to offer one to the Dwrgi. "It might be, if it were to prompt you to remove your mask."

Cerrynt straightens up and, before she reaches for the cup, tugs the mask off gratefully. "Gladly," she says. "I put it together this morning hurriedly and it is not likely to last much longer as it is." She lets it fall beside her and takes the cup.

Danhadlen smiled. 'That might be better than the effort I put into mine. I was starting to think I might not get it off until spring.'

Morydd smiled as she returned to the group, the charred smell of meat and sour scent of cider wrapping them all in a thick cloud of rich flavour, and laughter to match it. She took a small haunch of meat which appeared much larger in her hand as her teeth cut into it.

Gryffudd 's hazel eyes flickered over the abuse painted across her face, but he didn't stare. "You are a long way from Trum Dreng."

Danhadlen takes a sip from her cup, then cuts more at carcass. Even with just a knife, she's not too bad at butchering. 'These for roasting, and a bit for smoking, I should think.' She kept her questions to herself, in honour of the occasion, but she was saving up quite a few for later.

Cerrynt takes a deep drink from the cup, and nods. "Is it really so far?" she asks, glancing curiously at Morydd, finding the nearly silent woman puzzling. "I had thought others here might be from across the hills and plains as far as our feet carry us." She glances into the cup curiously, then takes another draught.

Canwr smiled, drinking deeply of the warmed cider. "I am from many places, nowhere really." He spoke more or less to himself, seating himself upon a thick deer skin.

Muirne kept quiet about how far she had travelled, and why. Her gaze wandered amongst them as she listened, learning.

Cerrynt tilts her head in Canwr's direction. "You have no clan or tribe?" she asks curiously, as if she's never heard of such a thing. As if she's not now in the same situation, and just not fully realized yet.

Canwr held up a hand at that. "I was born into a clan, but I am not of a clan, but I am of many." He shrugged then, another lopsided grin on his face. "My clan is that of Dunland."

Cerrynt nods, thoughtful. After a moment she says, "Perhaps the same is true of me, for the time being."

Danhadlen shrugged as she hoisted bits of boar up to roast. 'Wandering makes us used to travel. It doesn't make things nearer.' She smiled, trying to show she wasn't meaning any sort of rebuke or snideness.

Morydd had been sauntering around the bounty of food, pleasure in her motion as clear as the paint across her skin. She held her meat still in one hand, but picked with her other at whatever else her pale eyes found appealing, chewing and scanning all at once. And then she stopped, as someone took her notice more keenly than the food.

Cerrynt sets the cup down beside the meat so she can also do her share of bringing flanks of boar to be roasted. "My tribe's brenin had spoken of this gathering as though one would be sent from each tribe, as might be for a moot. Not that he spoke of it much."

Canwr frowned at that. "Brenin's of old would oft send their folk out far and wide, to be sure the night was being observed in all of their lands, so in that sense I suppose your Brenin may be right."

Gryffudd turned to follow the sight and scent of meat to be roasted. "This is one of many, held all across Dunland. We light fires to remind ourselves that we are still alive, and to remind our enemies that we are still here."

Cerrynt says, 'And to call the strength and wisdom of the spirits, or do they not take pleasure in the flame?'

Muirne glanced up, her eyes wide. She was painted for ceremony, but her shyness set her more apart than anything. "Am I...is this your spot?"

Danhadlen nodded as she got the next chunk. 'And yet this one... left it to you to wander? I begin to understand your declaration earlier, perhaps. But I will not press.' She hoists up the next flank.

Gryffudd waved his hand at Canwr. "That, too."

Cerrynt stands and returns to the oilcloth to prepare the pieces that are to be smoked, with another brief drink from her cup. "The brenin did not choose to stop me from being driven forth, but neither did he send me," she says simply. "I have heard that some brenins lead. Ours, at least the one who stands this day, lets his champion choose most things. Until recently that was wise, as my father, who was champion until his beard came silvered, was wise and considered."

Danhadlen moved to help, and quite possibly at this point only to help clean up, nodding as she listened.

Gryffudd listened, taking in her story, his brow watchful over the fire.

Morydd eyed the seated woman, without hesitation. The contrast between them amusing and difficult to miss, Morydd stood quietly wearing a tunic she had clearly abused, and a mantle of matted fur, her gaze drinking in the robes and adornements hanging in a web of intricate beauty tangled around the woman on the ground. She continued to chew the bite of meat, delaying a reply.

Cerrynt doesn't seem inclined at first to say more, but notices others listening as if expecting her to. With a frown, she traces a fingertip along the twist of her broken nose. "When he asked for one to succeed him, the one who did was... not wise. He was as the beast that kills for sport, not for sustenance. Cruel, once he had the power to be so. Ten days ago I came of age. Nine days ago, I challenged him, hoping to guide the clan back to wisdom, before he angered the other tribes in his drive to stand alone, and left us weakened and bereft." She lets her hand fall from her nose. "You can no doubt tell how that went."

Canwr pursed his lips, chewing on something for a moment. Then he spoke. "You are not done with him, his victory was beating you, yours was living to fight him another day, which you will."

Gryffudd eyed the girl with a grin cut through his stubble. "The battle is not the whole war. Not always."

Cerrynt nods with certainty. "Indeed. I came here hoping the spirits might guide me to find the strength and cunning I will need when I return. Cunning to ensure the fight is fair, and strength to win it." Her almost constant fidgeting and movement stills for a few moments as she speaks these words.

Danhadlen nodded, taking things in including some of what was happening away from the fire.

Canwr cast a glance at the prince of the Eryr-lûth, as ever the man cutting straight to the point on the same topic Canwr would spin our in pattern. "We do not revere Rhi Helvarch for his brute strength, but his cunning and his relentless persuit, take comfort from that."

Cerrynt nods gratefully to Canwr. "I am sure that in time I will make it right as it should have been. I only hope that I need not count the days too many first."

Canwr eased himself to his feet, swigging from the cup before he spoke up. "Your challenge is for the good of our people and the honour of our forebears, and nothing more however..." Here he spoke as if conspiring, a twinkle in his dark gaze. "The bonds it will forge may find you allies in your fight, and a name for folk to rally behind eh?"

Gryffudd nodded down to her. "You are welcome to live among us as you prepare for that day."

Morydd grinned down at her as she finished and swallowed, looking like she'd tried to bite her tongue. Though the laughter was kept silent, and the sneer lacked malice, the fabricated sweetness in her voice was slightly sour. "I pray," she began, ignoring the question and eyeing the web of foreign garments again, "You soon find a mate. And you may stop wearing your dowry at last."

Muirne blinked, suddenly hiding her painted and ringed hands under the folds of her many skirts. She did not know whether to thank the woman, or take insult. "Better a dowry than a widow's veil."

Cerrynt nods gratefully at the words of both men in turn, and she bows. "You do me honor," she says simply. As she bows, the huge axe on her back, which looks to weigh almost as much as her, sways ominously, but remains in place.

Danhadlen nearly choked at what she heard across the fire, but she'd already started her own reply to the nearer visitor. 'The hunter counts not his steps in the chase, but the preparations and actions taken to support them. Prepare. Count not the days.'

Morydd transformed her smile into something genuine, and her pale grey eyes eased their piercing edge, sparkling instead with a friendly mirth. "Depends on the man."

Canwr looked over the small group, pausing to take in the scent of the meat roasting. Two more cauldrons appeared, brought by painted serving folk. One held a pottage of barley, meat and vegitables and the other apples stewed in cream and sweetened with honey. "I thank you for sharing your tale, child of the Dwrgi-lûth, for it is a time for tales." He held out his hands, stepping aside so one of the servers could pass by. "I invite you all to tell your tales, sing your songs, share the word-bounty even as we share this feast."

Muirne warmed as the woman smiled. She let her eyes hover in the other woman's gaze, even after Canwr began to speak.

Danhadlen finally has some food, rather than just nursing her cup along, and seems content to keep her mouth busy that way for the moment.

Cerrynt moves around to the cauldrons and, having thus far not taken any of the feast, sets to making up lost time. "Had my father not chosen to train me in the ways of axe and spear I might have taken the life of the storyteller," she muses between mouthfuls of pottage.

Canwr half turned. "Oh?" He asked, sipping at his cider. "A noble calling in itself, do you have a tale for us?"

Morydd leaves the woman with a nod, and wanders closer to the others gathered as Canwr speaks. She smiles at Cerrynt as she steps closer, and whispers, "A moment before you if I may."

Cerrynt seems only momentarily surprised to be asked this, glancing around as if sure someone else might have told a tale first. Morydd's question elicits a nod and a deferring bow of the head.

Gryffudd kept to his cider, watching those who had better talent for word-craft than him.

Morydd assumed the familiar stance of a toast of honour, either not noticing or caring that she rasied a bone of meat in place of a drink. "Tonight," she says in a voice not loud nor deep, but cutting the air with a thin chill. "Many spirits roam free. Evil among them. Drink once and drink again for our warriors on watch tonight. They do not feast with us. They make a fence of eyes and fire around this sacred grove, to let this meeting of clans begin without fear. And end without blood." Her eyes flashed again as the word left her tongue. "Apart from," she added, beginning to smile, "The blood we want."

Canwr raised his cup in salute. "Aye." He muttered, drinking deeply of it. "All those who left their offerings early so they could watch through the night."

Gryffudd raised his cup, but before he brought it to his lips, he poured a steady stream of cider over the fire. It burnt to mist in the coals.

Morydd stepped aside, digging into her prize of meat again, and nodding to the younger girl at her side as she drifted closer to the fire's glow.

Cerrynt turns and reaches behind her, where her axe is fastened with a few loops of leather, and in a smooth practiced motion frees it, raises the axe (this takes a twist of her body to counter that it weighs almost as much as her slight frame), and holds it high for a moment in salute, before returning it just as gracefully to its bindings.

Danhadlen nodded slowly, even as she kept eating for now. But then, she'd be taking food out to the sentries later, too.

Canwr looked between the group once more. "It is said..." He began in a low tone. "That the seasons did not always turn thus." Stepping forward, he tilted his head to look to the cliffs. "This I heard from my mentor, who learned it from hers, who learned it from his who learned it from a seer who once talked with an Elven witch from the forests."

Cerrynt listens raptly, almost forgetting her bowl of pottage that she'd just picked back up.

Canwr |"In the days before our folk had even heard of the Forgoil in the days before the tall folk from the sea had come and cut down our ancestors forests, all of this was woodland." He cast a hand out toward the night, admittedly the patch they were in was still a wooden one. "It was in the dark days of old that winter was brought to the land, thought to be eternal, by the _

Gryffudd lowered himself to a stretch of deerhide that kept the dampness of the grass from crawling up. He folded his legs, settling comfortably as his wolf-fur warmed his shoulders and the fire warmed his face. He listened to Canwr, and for a moment had the look of a child at a Yuletime pageant, thinking of nothing else in the world but the story he was about to hear.

Morydd crouches by the fire, listening with a sudden eager spirit, as though her heart was exposed. Her crouch did not seem to end in a position one would normally sit in, but she moved no more and had clearly settled comfortably on the ground.

Canwr |Gelyntywyll." He near whispered the name. "He brought a darkness to the land, winter and malice embodied, and in his footsteps life wilted away, and foul things sprung from it's wreckage." He stopped to crouch by the flames, his hands held out for their warmth. "It is said that there were great battles against this dark foe, and those battles shaped the land, eventually +

Danhadlen shivered as she listened, her eating slowed but not fully forgotten.

Canwr |throwing him down, but his evil remained here..." And there the seer slapped the earth by the fire. "One of the great ones who came from beyond the veil to stop Gelyntywyll however knew of the evil he left behind, for he had chased him from these very forests." Standing once more he smiled. "Rhi Helvarch rode through once more, his horses hooves as thunder, and hunted those beasts, until the winter was driven from the land, and it is said life will first come in spring in the spots that those hooves fell." He tapped the ground once more, this time with his boot. "This is one such sacred spot, and the Huntsman still hunts here, for the dark things such as the Cunn Anun were sired by the servants of Gelyntywyll, and the fell spirits roused by his +

Muirne squinted as she listened from her distant seat on the reed-woven mat. She puzzled through the story, matching it at points to a similar legend by her own northern peoples.

Canwr |magic." He stepped back. "But each turning of the year, when the winter is set to return, The Lord of the Hunt gathers the noblest of our forebears and rides against them, so that they can never keep the folk of Dunland in darkness." The seer grinned, and tipped some of his drink upon the fire. "To Rhi Helvarch."

Morydd echoed in a soft tone. "Rhi Helvarch."

Cerrynt is still awestruck for a few moments before it occurs to her to follow suit, emptying what little is in her cup into the fire. "To Rhi Helvarch," she murmurs reverently.

Danhadlen tips some of her cup as well, possibly all that remained of it. 'Aye. To Rhi Helvarch.'

Gryffudd fed the fire with more cider until his cup was empty. He did not have to reach far for a flagon to refill it.

Morydd freed both her hands to reach for a pitcher of cider and a cup to contain it, holding her never-ending haunch of meat in her teeth like a hound.

Canwr drank the rest of the cup, moving to refil his own, and to help himself some some pottage while he was at it. "Has anyone else another tale?" He asked hopefully. He smiled warmly, touched either by the company or the spiced cider.

Cerrynt seeing Morydd's haunch of meat goes to take one of her own. "I know of none so grand," she says. "The tales the Dwrgi-lûth tell are humble, it seems."

Gryffudd chuckled, but quietly, to not disrupt the festivities. He offered with a gesture to pour the woman whose name he did not know, but who for this night was his friend, a fresher cup.

Canwr waved the modesty away. "Nonsense, friend, if you pick apart each stitch as a worthless thing the entire tapestry will come undone."

Cerrynt nods, and gnaws thoughtfully for a moment. "Well, this tale is somewhat grand, I suppose. I will try to tell it so, at least." She steps a bit closer to the fire to catch its light in her eyes.

Cerrynt says, 'In a day when the skies were more blue than they are now, and the rivers deep and strong, an old man came walking down the river, his great strides barely breaching the mighty flow, nor being moved by it. Some in the tribe saw beneath his feet the mighty trout that lived in the river then, bigger than the boars of the hills are today, swimming beneath his every step. The tribes were small and did not yet bear the names of the spirits of beasts, and all things were like they are now, but unlike. The brenin, hearing of this man, came out of her home and walked to meet him. She was old, her long silver hair trailing in the dust behind her, and her smile had melted the hearts of a thousand men; but he did not see her.'

Morydd lifted her chin in what would be familiar to most of her kinsmen as a gesture of thanks, reclaiming her bone with her hand, and moving her eyes from the man to watch the cider with a slightly greedy gleam.

Canwr eased himself down, grinning up at the teller.

Cerrynt says, 'He walked onto shore as if it were as fluid as the river had been for him, past her as if she were merely a light breeze. He spoke no words, yet the trees bowed to him, the birds sang to him, and the dust rose up to dance before and behind him. He strode across the tribe's home towards the great yew whose leaves sheltered them all.'

Danhadlen steps aside to sit for the tale, finally tired of standing.

Cerrynt says, 'Stung, the brenin strode back to her hut, ordering the tribe to ignore this false spirit sent to deceive them, and the tribe averted their gaze, returning to scratching in the dust for worms and ground-fruit. All save one orphan girl of six summers, who knew yet no words, and so gazed at him as he took from the yew one branch, as easily as if it were an over-ripe fruit. Raptly she watched as he dipped the branch into the river, and the mighty trout took its tip in his mouth. The man lifted the trout and tore it open, and within was succulent meat, more than all the scratchings the tribe gathered in a year. He ate a mighty feast, then cast the scraps back into the river, where they became a thousand small trout, swimming upstream. The man strode back whence he came, and was never seen again. When the girl had seen twenty more summers, and twenty more yet, and in her time became the brenin, she took the yew branch she'd hidden that day and caught a trout, and ever since the tribe has fished for trout, and grown strong and mighty from its tender flesh.'
Cerrynt steps back, nodding in satisfaction, and going back to gnawing on the haunch, though she is thinking how nice some trout might have been.
Danhadlen nodded with a smile.

Canwr slapped the ground in applause. "Well told my friend, I've a taste for salmon myself, maybe the giant had a brother for that?" He grinned. "Where did you hear that?"

Gryffudd stealthily crept his seat forward, likely making more of a scene by it than if he'd simply stood up and taken another, but it was in the joyful mischief that he delighted. He settled again next to Danhadlen, taking her hand just as Cerrynt described the Brenin. He didn't look at her, but kept rapt eyes on the Dwrgi.

Cerrynt says, 'Oh, it is told in my village often, though I admit I ... dressed it up a little.'

Morydd raised her new cider with a nod and a cheerful 'lechyd da' in appreciation as the girl ended her tale.

Cerrynt smiles and bows her head to Morydd, then takes a seat (for the first time there's a tiny wince in her motions, blink and you'd miss it, as she settles down).

Muirne listened, wide eyes reflecting the open-ness of her ears.[/quote]

Canwr spooned the pottage into his mouth, eyes fixed on the others from across the bowl's steaming surface. "Does anyone else have a tale, song or toast?" He asked between mouthfulls.

Gryffudd shook his head, content to sit with his sister's hand in his.

Danhadlen pondered a bit, shook her head as well, eventually, with a briefly sour face at herself.

Cerrynt gnaws contentedly on the meat she took before the story, watching Morydd and the others expectantly.

Morydd rose and crept forward, between the gathered circle of her kindred, painted with their clans or without, and smiled. "We may pay the spirits some honour perhaps," she said, and turned to meet the faces now familiar to her tonight. Resting on Cerrynt as her first choice, she spoke in a voice with a tone of ceremony. "Speak your clan, or any beast or spirit you wish."

Cerrynt says without hesitation, "I am of the clan of Otter, swift and nimble, at home in water and land, loyal to family and fierce to all others."

Gryffudd gently nudged Danhadlen with his elbow, sliding her a teasing grin. "You're thinking of something."

Morydd turned to the others, her fur mantle twisting with her shoulders as she met other eyes in the circle. "What does the Huntsman love of the Otter? What do we admire of her?"

Muirne stared at the only one who'd spoken to her that night, caught between wishing to be called on and wishing to disappear into the reeds.

Gryffudd chuckled a single beat. "Its companionship. It knows who it belongs to, and who belong to it."

Canwr smiled at the question, remaining silent for the time however.

Morydd nodded at the response, drinking her cider in a casual motion which seemed to clash with the ceremony of her game.

Cerrynt nods thoughtfully, and turns to gaze to the southwest for a moment.

Morydd | "Clever and quick," she adds with a grin, "No match for heads of straw."

Danhadlen managed not to snort at her brother's comment to her, though she smiled. At least for the moment, she chose not to talk across the other bits of speech.

Canwr spoke up then. "In life the Huntsman loves the freedom of the otter, in death the rich pelt." He raised his cup to Morydd. "I always try to think of the balance on these things..." Craning his neck, he cast a glance at his companion. "Muirne, tell us of any spirits your folk honour, or animals for that matter?"

Cerrynt turns to the quiet woman, noting her name and listening.

Muirne stared, fearing for the moment she misheard, but her name was indeed called from the circle. "My people feast on roots," she muttered, almost an apology. "The beasts that roam our land are barely beast at all."

Morydd followed the words from life to death with approval in her eye. She drank again, and brushed her tunic free of some dried earth from her seat at the fire. She tilted her head to the stranger from the north, more curious after the answer.

Morydd says, 'Do your songs praise and honour the roots?'

Muirne 's paling eyes drifted over to Morydd, shocked like a deer in torchlight for the number of eyes on her. "Lady, our songs conjure the dead."

Cerrynt stares at Muirne a moment and then goes to drink from her cup, only to find it empty, as she toasted with the last of it earlier.

Gryffudd passed on the flagon to fill Cerrynt's cup, though more slowly as he eyed the young bride through the smoke.

Morydd let her teeth flash in a cheeky smile at the word lady, and raised her cider. "If any of them wish to join us tonight, you may sing for us."

Canwr spoke up then from an empty bowl. "And the dead have their place on this night, do they not?" He cast a glance at the bone-white mask at his side. "I would usually honour the Stag, for it is dearest to the Huntsman, but on this day I honour the Raven, wise and far-flyng, feasting upon the slain." He raised his cup. "The true Lord of Battle, once the fighting has passed."

Danhadlen chortled, nodding to the seer's words.

Morydd nodded once, and held her cider closer to her waist. "The Raven," she said, "Who has counted every eye of our foe, and every heart of our kindred who fell with honour."

Morydd turned to Danhadlen, and opened her palm gently while she drank, choosing not to repeat her questions, but leave the air open to all other voices.

Muirne sat, desperate for a moment that the circle was done with her, but this was a sacred night for her people, too. Slowly, she stood, and with a ringing of bells on her skirts took three solemn steps forward, sounding like a hearse carriage from some grand city, but distant off. She folded her painted hands in front of her and lifted her painted face up to the sky. She sang in a language that sounded so close to their own they should understand it, but each word was the underside of one they knew. She sang like a high-pitched, long, echoing ringing between the peaks of mountains, then dipped so low the sound fell into chasms that cracked the earth. Over the while, she drifted, word by word, from her language into the one she'd studied, practiced, and prepared before she was sent to live amongst the Dunlendings. "Oíche mhaith...and joy...be with you all," she sang, lingering like the spearpoint from Cerrynt's story if she'd been frozen like their enemy, Helm of old. "Good night and joy be with you all."

Danhadlen took advantage of the song to refill her cup, though she was slow and quiet about it, trying to give the song its due respect. She raised the cup at its conclusion, and poured a libation before drinking. 'I keep being over-matched tonight. But I have the honour to be claimed by the Eagle, even when others will have me not.' She snorted before adding, 'Besides the nettle.'

Cerrynt listened raptly to the song just as she had to Canwr's story, half as if lost in it, and half as if studying and memorizing it.

Morydd listened still and silent to let the song dance with the firelight on every face gathered in the grove. She turned to drink and hear the words given to the eagle, and her brow furrowed slightly with her grin.

Muirne lowered her head from the stars that crowned their halo of trees. She quarter-bowed, as she was used to, and retreated to her reed-woven mat to sit smartly and on display, while not making eye contact with any.

Canwr tilted his own head back toward the stars. "Thank you, Muirne.”
Muirne bowed her head, but didn't raise it again.

Danhadlen pondered her food and cup, and resumed eating.

Cerrynt as before is a few moments behind at the niceties so a few beats after Canwr, she adds, "Yes, thank you for the song, it was... as if the wind were lonely when it first sang it."

Morydd left the circle to stalk around it briefly, catching words and glances and laughter as it continued behind her, cider, meat, good company and the roaring fire keeping her spirits high.

Canwr stood slowly. "I'm afraid I must take my leave too, the preperations for this night have drained me, and I must keep watch upon the dawn over the hills." He helped himself to a bowl of the stewed apples. "Please enjoy the hospitality, and if you keep to the fire in your sleep in the morning you'll have food and drink brought to you for your journey."

Muirne glanced only at Cerrynt, but she'd retreated too much into her bubble of imagined mist.

Cerrynt glances around and then up to Canwr, and nods. "Thank you, friend," she says. "I had not thought where I might go after this, so it lifts a burden I did not know I bore to learn I can remain for a time."

Gryffudd raised his full cup to Canwr. Rarely did they meet eyes except for one to roll their own. This time, the meeting was true. "We'll talk," he promised and warned, then downed the cup. He had the day tomorrow to sleep, but it was after that he'd start preparations for the priest's plan.

Canwr bowed his head to those gathered before winding his way into the darkness of the night, thick of spirits, threat and fate.

Cerrynt rises to toss the small bone left from her meal onto the fire, then moves about tending the roasting and smoking of the boar set up earlier, piling the meat that no one took onto the oilcloth and then folding it over to keep from calling beasts and scavengers. When this is done, she chooses a spot by the fire a respectful distance from the others, especially from Muirne who she suspects prefers some distance, to settle down for a night's rest near enough the fire to pass the night without a blanket.