Dunlendings

Returned from patrol, Gryffudd meets his sister and old friend and hear their council regarding new, troubling rumors. 

Danhadlen allows herself a small smile as she approaches Gryffudd. "Gracing us with your presence, old man?"

"Come on, come on! We're in Dunland, already. Few more days, and we'll be there."

Poem written by Gleored, rider in Fréaláf Hildeson eored that regained the Meduseld and city of Edoras after the Long Winter where Helm, his sons and others gave their lives.

 

  Fréaláf hleoþrode ða, heaþogeong cyning: 
"Ne ðis ne dagað eastan, ne her draca ne fleogeð, 
ne her ðisse healle hornas ne byrnað. 

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.

The journey through Eregion was quiet, the land full of rolling hills and dry creek beds, clusters of holly trees giving the area the name, Hollin. Ancient elvish ruins dotted the landscape as they rode along the faint path, dust kicking up under the hooves of the big brown horse. 

Watching him go, she felt an unexpected pang of emotion and smiled at him her eyes shining with unshed tears for the lost kittens and for his act of kindness. She sighed, suddenly realizing they would likely have no means to care for a litter of lynx kits. She rubbed her head and looked at the fire, there would have to be some way. She rolled out one of the furs near the flames and set to work cutting up the deer carcass for cooking and drying.