Thilwend

Heartha woke at her regular time, just before dawn. She yawned, stretched her strong arms up above her to ease a slight crick in her shoulder, stretched her long legs one at a time. She smiled. 

It was still early enough in the year for a single day to go through various seasons. It had been dull and dark to start with, then the sun had graced the heavens with a bright light until hailstones started falling from a sky rapidly turning as gray as the cloak of the wanderer, Gandalf Greyhame. The ravens in the field to the back took flight from the ground they had been striding over, and made for what shelter the trees offered. 

She was going on the planned hunt. That was that. 

“Who are you?” I called out. “What do you want?”

With a hand raised to shield her eyes from the unexpectedly bright sun of the early winter’s morning, Hertha watched as her cousin, Thilwend, approached the doors to the Armoury and, with a court nod and a ‘Fair day to you,’ passed on her way to her office. But another, much smaller figure wasn’t far behind the sergeant. Her lightness of step and cheerful expression caused the Smith to smile a little.