Hondscioh

Within the large Mead-hall, all the members of the Witan have gathered: Mægisterwigend Gyric, serving as a Captain of Wildermore's éored, Seaxwyrd son of Radwine, a son to a renown warrior, standing at Thrymm's place, Ethelmund, the Quartermaster of Forlaw, Thane of Scylfig, Cynegar, a friend and cousin to the Reeven, Frambald, Thane of Dunfast, Aldwin, uncle of the Former Thane of Byre Tor and last Leofholm, master healer of Forlaw.

​Hondscioh nodded at Egilfrid and looked between Erlene and the Eorling horse-tamer ''Yer woman knows where to find ya.'' and advanced a few strides to shake hands with him, though his eyes soundlessly wandering around the ring to find his horse.

FORLAW VILLAGE / REFUGEE CAMP -- EVENING

Hondscioh, with a few drinks in him emerged from the smoky inn, sucking the fresher air, traded a look with Régnwald who seemed lost... and a little drunk.

''I brought ye mead... It appears you won't step in that inn, it smells horse-shit -- like Stelimund, that old man.''

Across the weak fire, Régnwald looked over at Hondscioh, smiled, but 'twas wearied and bittersweet.

The winter air bit deep in the cliffside burgh, but stout walls and warm hearths did something to keep the west's harsh winds at bay. Folk busied themselves with everyday labour: the logs were split, cattle driven and linen washed even in times of strife. The man named Hondscioh walked onward with heavy steps, eyes watching the scop-maiden on the wood terrace in silent curiousity.