Gleorwyn

Clack; the sound resounded through the sparing trees. Clack; it echoed and grew more fervent and confident. Clack; the definitive sound of wood striking together. The sound dripped across the fields, it wavered in strength and tone as it fluttered along the breeze, but clearly the noise was being dampened by something.

“Drink of this...”

A hand pressed against the back of her head, lifting it slightly. The smooth over-used wooden rim of a bowl pushed against her bottom lip.

“Drink it... you will feel better for it.”

Dawn cracked its weary head over yonder clefts, and the pale golden light sifted through long grass and reeds. The serene breeze gently hummed over the plains and whistled amongst ram shackled wood. A thatched house sat pleasantly in the glade; the land surrounding its southern side was expansive and carried on as far as the horizon. Eastwards more farmsteads cropped their heads over a wave of grass and rolling hillock. A half a dozen horses grazed not far from the buildings rear, and towards its front, ran a flurry of chickens in endless circles.

Myrhoa.

Myrhoa has served me for the last three winters, in that time, she has carried me over many lengths and stretches…her manner though in retrospect was not too dissimilar to mine. Fear is something not many would admit to.