I roamed trough gorges until time stopped to exist, as unrelenting force of justice and self grievance. My shield is splintered and spearhead is dulled with each thrust in guts of the goblins and orcs. I am tired, very tired. 

Resting now under the hollow tree, by the great Langflood, i see myself as carpace of what I was before. And I am content, nothing of little worth shall stay with me to my timely end. 

- "The web of lies became impassable, the web of misguidance became distracting. There is only way I can discover the truth of the happenings that started evolving long before Stangard fell. It is clear what I have to do. " - Cynebur said to her sisters as packing her bags. The newborn was in sisters arms sleeping and the joy filled the family that was so deep rooted in life of Wildermore.

- "I know you have your path, but return safely, our dearest sister." - other one said and her husband came inside also.

FORLAW / JAIL / NIGHT

''They'll come.'' spoke the fiery-haired man, named Hondscioh, with a solemn air about him.

''They will.'' answered the leader of the war-band, man known in times son of Régn.

Hondscioh stared toward the gates, waiting for a sign and he turned, squeezing Régnwald's shoulder before he walked to his corner.

​Faerhild stepped down the stairs with heavy feet, halting to stand in front of the bars. She stared through them at the shadows of the jail for a long while, silent in her thoughts. Although eventually she would speak with a loud enough voice, "Could you come closer? I need a word with each of you."

Gydgar peered from his corner, "Come to hear my voice again is it?" He grinned, before reaching to one of the bars and pulling himself upright with a yawn and a rub of his hands.

Regnwald lifted up his chin, scarred and bearded features of the young Eorling betraying his age, and with the fatigue of recent days, his voice laced ''You didn't get the approval of Witan, eh.'' defiant, hazel green eyes gleamed with the gravity of a point already known. The man lowered his head, gazing down at his boot clad in fur and leather.

“The deeds of men, as footprints in the snow.
Nothing under the blue sky is fated to last.