Clouds, asleep in daylight unfurled, carried northward on a great wind. If only it could carry the Eorlings with it. The first end of many days came not with comfort, but on the barren hilltop. A lonely tower seated high and empty kept watch over the ruined remains of its kindred in what was once village of Stangard.
Too had the horselord, hands bloodied from the deeds in Eorlsmead rode silently that morning. Lips pursed behind the light, straw coloured beard. ''Well, the situation as it stands is this...'' A voice, laced with the fatigue of recent days, worked to draw the band close even as he moved in. A leather and plate clad hand waved, gesturing at the desolate scene that lay about them. ''Before we work on how exactly we'll move on,''
Wind now stirred the straw coloured hair that fell to his shoulders, brushed free of tangles for the first time in many days. The dogged fatigue that clung to his eyes, now served to harden features.
Gramlic dropped from a trot to a walk, iron-shod hooves thudding dully upon the damp turf until both horse and rider paused. "Thank you..." He mouthed, although to his fellow rider, his escort, the spirit of the man who had fallen or simply to the wind it was unclear. His pale gaze remained upon the village in ashes as he fell into silence once more.
"Lord, a shame that we must leave now when so many are in need or aid there. Curse that Swarthy commander if any ill comes of this may it be upon his own head."
Eohilda, shieldmaiden rode swiftly, yet carefully foreward, looking all around for any sign of danger or the glint of enemy weapons as she also scanned the grass for any of the Rohirric folk who had called this home. She spotted a man laying in the grass, blood covering his back, from the back of her horse she already knew this man was past her assistance so rode on until Régnwald's yell made her pause. Turning in the saddle, "Have you been so gone from combat my Lord you would take time to do nothing? While we gap at this burning town folk die, our folk, spears and swords up now. I move forward alone if I must." her tone showing she would not be halted.
"Do not be a fool, Eohilda, you'd get yourself killed, the living owe the dead much, but not their own lives." This was shouted now. "You will find no one living there, the deed has been done time ago." He thrust a iron-clad hand toward the town. "Take that sight in, the carrion birds feast no longer, but linger, the place reeks of death that has long passed." He firmed his jaw then. "We ride in together, if at all, and pay our respects, but do not go charging in like a rabble of hairy-arsed Wild-men whooping with stolen horses, do you hear me clearly?" He looked between the pair, voice dripping with the challenge, it's strength lent from size and station. Lowering his voice, it is that once more of a friend. "I understand, I truly do, but we can't do this things rashly, we've lost too much."
Régnwald then took that moment to look between the group ''Everyone, to saddle.'' T'was spoken quiet; yet clear, as he gripped the bridle of Gramlic, ''We ride north, where the survivors hide.'' Once hoisted into the saddle, the stallion began trotting swiftly, carrying the horselord, its burden...
