woodmen

The Third Branch upon 'The Burl of Hárvang'

The Second Branch upon 'The Burl of Hárvang'

The First Branch upon 'The Burl of Hárvang'

Hildegund rode slightly in the lead, eyes on her hounds as well as the trees and ground, not letting any single sight occupy her attention for too long unless it seemed to warrant a real look. Marnewyn followed along, watching similarly, though more so at trees and ground since she was not used to trying to figure out the hounds.

The day had been taken by the obsidian sheet of night, and the woods that protected Gelvira’s hut, grew quiet of the birds chirping as the creatures of night patrolled instead. She found herself being here less, as she took frequent trips to visit her love, at her new home, situated in a small hamlet on the outskirts of Bree.

There had been a fortnight of preparation and rehearsal, almost every day during daylight hours spent in the Chetwood, so much that in Heriwulf's dreams he could see specific trees, rocks, worn patches in the underbrush, the nests of squirrels. Sometimes in these dreams he was sprinting, being pursued by a wolf, and the path, the trail of scent markers, was a glowing mist, a diffuse light pulsing softly, leading his steps to the ring, which was a stockade made of beams of shimmering light rising up from the ground and straining to reach the stars.

The trap-maker gave up on trying to sketch more designs, and was already too sore in the fingers from having her daydreaming distract her from the physical side of her work. She sighed and sat back, trying to draw portraits of her sweetheart again, despite not really feeling like she was capturing what mattered. At least it was sort of an excuse that almost justified thinking of her so much.