Past is History, Present is Past, Future is Now...

Was a fine morning within Eastemnet, Snowbourn. The birds were chirping, the sun was stirring upon the blue-sky, and the crofters, were doing their dailies. A stood-out young girl whom soft, but not weak, strong, but not firm, cheerish, but cold. Eohilda, The Stubborn she is.

Her clothing looked simple, Not a harness of beauty from mighty esquires like tales of old that she wore, merely a rugged brown durable clothing, may be classified of a Hauberk, but nay, not a proper way to say either. Her shoulders wrapped in her uncle's favourite, a glistening fur of bear that was found lingering the woods, It didn't end up there, the fur was swished with walnut dyes, serving an excellent trophy for springers. but her metals, a once heritage of her family forged a new by her uncle, not even into a loutish made, but more of a beauty alike Mearas, horses which surpasses ordinary horses strength. And not to forget, a brownish hood and a yellow lining which It's placed only to divide, sewn by her own, the beauty was comparadable and was not a quality of the highest, but It's process deeply goes over beauty and effort, full of memories and shades. Not much known of her others utility such as gloves, belt, and boots but ordinaries and durables.

And so to the gate she went, passing some fine folks of Fastred's, a wooden made houses and noises of rumbling steeds were heard from the stable. A far peacefull saunters finally reached her by the Western gate of Snowbourn. As soon as she arrived, a definite figure of her uncle and some unnamed guards attending their duties, Nothing much but postures to her eyes. A colourfull nigh was heard so sudden, a stable boy was struggling to it's horse rope while she found the horse was trying to reject the boy will, what a faint chuckle that no-one but herself heard it, but her smile printed to her uncle as he watched her, beckoning the girl to tarry closer.

Of not long Stranglfrad hugged the girl, "My dear.... Eleven years! Not a short time to be forgotten, is it not? But it bodes of how long we spent our days alongside, so It may be still remembered in your deary heart even we won't be seeing much as we used to be.." A tear would slipped Stranglfrad's notice, but care not. It was worthed, for a man cries to his beloved. And Eohilda, un-suprisingly was too, aswell. "I cannot give you much but equipments of your wanders, and this horse... My loyal steed, you two gives care to eachother, I'm sure this Aethelwigend you speak off is a kind one, If not you tell me so I can teach him a good lesson on taking care my Eohilda!" Her uncles smiled woefully, and watched as Eohilda and his steed, wandered upon the fray, seeking windy rumours of this Eored of the East-Mark.