Ada

It was closely coming round to that time of year. The heat of the sun finally piercing the frost of the morning and encouraging flowers to blossom and leaves to grow. The home had remained almost the same, except for the traces of Drandr dotted hither and thither. He had left that morning to run a few errands, and with the thud of the door closing; the house cast within itself a shadow and a feeling of cold. Emptiness.

The gentle cawing of birds sifted through the open pane. The scent of a spring morn and grass clearing the dust and cobwebs. Joy awoke as the breeze drifted across her skin, raising her head from the table which had left its grain upon her cheek. The house was relatively still, which she was thankful of; it meant she had not overslept, or so the thoughts told her as they ran about her still sleep ridden mind. She was exhausted but she was able to find the effort to raise herself from her chair and wander over toward the bedroom.

Incessant was the pattering of rain in the dark. A rhythmic dripping from nose and limb to join that of one large puddle covering the entire causeway, at its base the water formed a larger mass swilling with that of the mud which slid from the banks of the pathway. Rows of men stood ankle deep in water, though one could easily count a dwindled number, only amounting to thirty shield arms.

Dirk, a tailor by trade, often frequented different places of beauty throughout Bree-land, on his increasingly lengthy dinner breaks. He spent his days working and treating leathers in a workshop in Combe. He was a man who focused on the smaller things in life, good food and ale but also that of nature. One would often, when in his company, think of him as shy; but he bore a joyful and genuine smile and would attempt to bring cheer out of the grumpiest of fellows. There is no doubt he kept to himself, and often did….until one early morning in spring.