Gwennol rolled up the hide tent, lashing it tight with leather straps leaning it against a tree. She slung on her bag, picking up her staff before whistling for Cysgod to begin her morning foraging. The sound of thundering hooves were heard suddenly and she turned, her long hair whipping around as she held her staff. A heavy dark chestnut horse galloped towards her, the hulking like rider glimpsed as it pounded towards her through the trees. It was nearly abreast of the young woman who tensed to dart out of its path and turned to run.
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Weatherhills
