Men of the Mark

Hertha looked up from her studied examination of a box of nails, a gate hinge and a small eating knife. The double doors to the armory and forge swung open in a manner suggesting someone was not totally at ease that day.

“Did you get out of the wrong side of the bed this morning, cousin, or is it something I said?” 

It was late in the afternoon when I tidied my hair, dusted off my dress, and walked over to pay Northgyth a visit. Ymma opened the door to me, and ushered me in as a welcome visitor. 

“Have you come for something, Yllfa, or do you want…”

Although I was happy travelling on occasions, I was not a wanderer at heart. I had dwelt in two homes only. Until I was fourteen my family had all lived in the farmhouse, northwest of Edoras. Then I had lived just outside Harwick with my parents, and my father alone, after my mother had died.  There was the year at Forlaw, which strangely enough had always seemed home to me, far more than Harwick ever had. There were the months in Stangard, which I wish had never occurred.

She was weary. The sun was not even high in the sky, and she was weary. Sweeping a strand of thick flaming auburn hair from her eyes, the smith worked on the bellows, building the fire in her forge a little hotter. Why was it that she had such trouble from that foolish and vain guard. He didn’t want a woman working on his armour? Fine! Let him find someone else to do the repairs.

“We must start training,” he said, as he sipped at the mug of elderflower and honey drink I had made. There will come a time when we have to go after that man. We must both be ready.”

Yllfa's connecting stories can be read here:
Rising from the Ashes. Part One.
Rising from the Ashes. Part Two.
Rising from the Ashes. Part Three.

Greetings, Lady Northgyth,

I hope this letter finds you well. 

I had to see the ashes of my past. There could be no moving on without full recognition that there was no going back. For Waelden and Ethel that was not a concern. Ethel had hardly been there at all, and I was thankful for that fact. 

I used to lie in bed and look to the low ceiling, and imagine the night sky beyond … sometimes I would even turn the wrong way up, with my head at the foot of the bed so I could look out of the small window. I would imagine what adventures my life would hold. Even a farmer’s daughter has dreams of matters other than feeding chickens and bringing in the crops. Mine were often of wandering in the fields and forests, and finding herbs that would do wonderful things when administered.