derudh

Gwennol raked her nails on the man's hand as he choked her, pulling back as her eyes turn bloodshot, her lips purple. She gasped for air that would not come, twisting in the sick man's grip. The door to the hut slammed open and Pren burst into the room, his eyes drawn to the center of the floor Gwennol struggled. A look of pure anger crossed his face and he shouted out in a deep threatening voice, "LET HER GO."

Pren nodded as he ran a hand through her hair briefly before the voice was heard, pulling the kitten back towards himself and putting him in his furs, letting his head pop out.

Gwennol looked up, standing and going to fetch her bag, "What is wrong with him?" She asked the young man, a boy really, who came to deliver the message. He shrugged, looking away from Pren, a hint of fear in his eyes, "I don't know, he has fever and won't wake." 

Gwennol's face grew serious and she turned to Pren, "I must go help."

Pren looked back as his name was mentioned,  before he looked over to Brisen, nodding once more before surveying the large hut and the people milling around, staring at the strangers. 

Brisen looked at him boldly, her eyes roamed over his broad chest and up to his face. "Come, this way." She walked towards the door, her hips swayed under a tight fitting hide skirt.

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.

Gwennol knelt before the fire, as a thick white plume of smoke rose, fragrant with herbs thrown in among the oak logs. She watched the flames, her eyes slightly dark underneath and she murmured a repetitive chant, rolling her thumb against the antler charm around her neck. Pren had been gone for weeks on the errand that sent him north with the man who had been at times both friend and enemy. Her worry grew as the time passed, not only for her journey home but that the man she had come to look to as a protector and friend, now future husband, had not returned.

The fire crackled the skin of the rabbit roasting on the spit, the small it of fat sizzling and bubbling. Gwennol shifted it away from the flames as it started to scorch and then sat back down, tossing some small bits of raw meat to Cysgod who opened his beak to snatch them out of the air. The shadows danced on the crumbling stone walls that surrounded her camp site and she could see the moon reflecting of the still waters of Nen Harn. Gwennol looked up at a sharp rawk sound from the craban who moved to perch on her shoulder. 

Gwennol listened as Pren explained how the people he had met on his first journey to the north had accompanied him south, only betray him and leave him for dead. He spoke of dark figures firing arrows, swift and strong they were but he did not see their faces. All he knew was that he had lived and lusted for revenge against the faithless man who he believed was behind it all. It was a fight with this man that left him in such a state and once again, they had tried  to kill him. Tying him and leaving him to drown.

The Night of the Silver Light