Brona

The sweetest moments of a day are the dawn, where you wake up refreshed after a dreamless and peaceful sleep. As the night kisses me goodbye and the morning embraces me as an old friend, I rise up with a vigour I have not felt for some time now.

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. 

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.

“I have to ask, on behalf of another. Do you serve roast meat here?” I sipped at my ale. It was good.