Where has this summer gone? Already the dark nights and mornings draw in, squashing the daylight that we are hurried to complete our tasks before Winterfylleth brings the season to a close.
This is a busy time for most folk of the Mark. The first two harvests are already over and done with, only the last is still to come before all descends into the slumber of the deep soil, or dies back to its barest forms to rest awhile; to hopefully renew in spring’s warming embrace.
I have never disliked the colder season in particular. To me it has been a time to dream and plan. To prepare medicines and bandages, to store food, to tell tales and hear the telling of tales old and new by others. To be close with dear ones. But this summer fled too fast, like a swift stag from the hunt. The promise of glorious golden days has been swept aside by threats and rumours stalking our village, and other villages close by. Even as Duncadda said on his visit, ‘You sense it too, this growing darkness?’
Waelden and I nodded to him in agreement. Any year could be a bad one. There could be failed crops and famine. There could be disease. There could be attacks from Dunlendings, or now it seems, even orc bands. But this summer it felt like the calm before the storm. THE storm!
All my senses were saying something dire was coming that will sweep us all away if it can. From the Thanes and Lords in Edoras, to the common peasant, it wanted us all to satisfy its own hunger. And I had bid Isa go hunt a little, so see what she could find, though in so doing my own strength was lessened.
And then there was my dear Waelden’s broken ankle.
To have him out of action for so long was frustrating to me, and nigh unbearable to him.
Waelden was ever active. This summer he could barely hobble. He could hardly carry out any of his usual chores, though he insisted on pushing himself to the limit. Even worse, he was a bad patient.
Where has this summer gone? It was supposed to strengthen us all for what is to come. And it has left us far too soon. Too late, is it too late to make amends and be ready?
Now Duncadda paid us an unexpected visit the week before last. Ethel and Bronaa were out with the animals, tending to horses, (particularly the new foal) goats and chickens. They had asked if they could use the pool in the cave afterwards, as a reward. Of course now, with Criba in custody, we could have no objection. They would be back before it was too late, as the promise of my own version of mutton and mead stew would call Ethel from any corner of the village. The following day, Bronaa was to return home again to her mother at the Roaring Dragon. She had been staying with us for just over a month, still having nightmares about being kidnapped. She and Ethel had grown to be even closer friends over recent days. Waelden and I would not interfere with the girls last night with us. And we had both said Bronaa could return for visits whenever she wished.
But back to Duncadda, for it was his visit that caused me to ruminate over lost time, and to focus again on the coming season.
We had not seen him for several weeks, knowing through the words of others that he had been seen around Bancross. He was outwardly fully healed from his wounds, though I guessed that inwardly there were still some matters that were raw to him. He would need a new sword, and in that matter we could not aid him save bid him speak with the garrison smiths, or Denholm. He also needed a new mount, and to bid farewell to his loyal Fastred. That was the harder task. We had no spare horse to show him. In truth such a matter could only be solved by Duncadda looking for a new mount with which he could feel an affinity. Horse and rider worked together. Not just any horse would do, save in an emergency.
We three had shared the meal, making sure enough was left for the girls return. We had shared beer, the newest blend from the village Brewery. It was good, fresh but with a depth to it. Not as good as Bancross Bold in my view, but it went well with the mutton. We spoke of what we had achieved, and it felt precious little compared to the previous year. But we were all still here, all still in good health. For a short time I felt at great ease myself. Waelden was happy to have the company of his old friend again. It felt good. We all laughed.
But then we fell silent, each coming to terms in their own way with the suspected future.
“You have sensed it too?” Duncadda broke the silence with a more serious note.
“Since last winter, and our trip to Wildermore,” I replied without pause.
Waelden nodded gravely. “I think many of us sense it, my friend. That my brother-in-law continues to enlist more men does nothing to assuage my suspicions. I only hope I am fully healed in time.”
Sitting next to Waelden as I was, I put a hand out to cover his, so that he knew I would support him in any way I could. He took my hand, holding it tightly. We would face whatever came with the winter winds and snow together. A family. It also included Duncadda, and now Bronaa and perhaps Hild and others.
When we later waved ‘farewell’ to Duncadda, I felt better in myself than I had for some time. There were the usual requests that he visit again soon, and particularly that he spend Midwinter with us, if he could. He had winked in his usual non-committal way, which meant he would if he could. Then he was away.
“We *are* a family, we three and the others,” I said, wrapping an arm around Waelden’s waist.
“Aye, she-wolf”, he replied, placing an arm around my shoulders. *We are becoming a fine pack.”
The following morning there was a light sleet on the ground. Ethel and Bronaa slept in; the table was empty of food, Waelden had taken to examining his sword and shield, and Isa returned.
