Up on the faint horizon, iron-shod hooves clipping cobble heralded the Horselord's arrival long before he rounded the gentle bend in the path. The man himself sat high in Gramlic's saddle. Adorned in a fine mail coat that was covered with a black surcoat. A brooch of intricate swirls fastened a weather-beaten cloak across broad shoulders. After a few long moments, he brought the beast to a pause nigh to river.
With a deep drawn breath, he dismounted his faithful companion, his feet eventually finding the ground. He stared out across the river, stealing a dark, brooding look. The captain glanced sideways, eyeing the beast, held it from bridles, moving Gramlic to a corner far from other eyes and ears. After whispering some words to horse's ear, he gave a light clap on its brown mane.
Pacing back to river, he unclasped the thick, embroidery cloak from his back, and the fur that sit on the Horselord's shoulders followed it. As the moment passed, he stepped into river, swimming across, he pushed aside the wooden plank, limped up onto the ground, trailing weeds, his shins and thighs felt burdened. His wobbly-kneed stagger still managed the grace of the warrior, edging towards the land.
Sword in hand, he paced onward with heavy steps, his unruly golden hair was wet, and the clinking sounds of iron would be heard as he walked. He breathed heavily, head tilted up gazing skyward and sweeping around the area. Soon he decided to find a high ground to better see the fields, and climbed the next hill. Nægling's tip danced and tapped as it hung loose from its baldric on his shoulder.
Régnwald shifted uncomfortably as the wind fiercely blew to his face from the east. The captain's thoughts were dark on this bright dawn. He cast his eyes to the ground and a bitter sigh escaped the confines of his mouth.
He winced as he heard sounds, and turned around,halfway between question and accusation. He would pace around. On a high ground now, the captain gazed into the distance until his eyes caught a figure moving in the long grass, his eyes glistened. Cautiously but in a quick pace, he stalked over to the figure, sword in hand ''Show me your face!'' it was shouted now, the man wearing a fierce look.
Céolswith reacted to the shouting, preparing her spear. She would roll to her knees, preparing to throw the spear before realizing it was Régnwald. The spear would still be held up like she was ready to throw it.
Régnwald took his stance as the figure rose tall quickly with a spear pointed to him. As he looked better, he shifted uncomfortably. "I..." Finding himself struggling for mouth words, he wetted his lips, cleared his throat and tried again. ''Céolswith.'' However, was all he could say.
The maiden lowered her spear before avoiding his gaze. She would look to the ground.
Régnwald stepped closer, only to falter on his third step, remembering to slide Nægling back into her fleece-lined scabbard. Continuing his pace, drew closer and to full height, the man narrowed his eye a slight, gently tilting her chin up to meet a cold gaze. ''Why?''
Céolswith looked at him, answering quietly, "Have you seen the looks of others? Or heard their words?"
The captain would shake his head, bare hand falling away. ''You told me nothing, do they mean so much?'' he sucked air through clenched teeth. ''Wounded.'' Taking a step back, he looked the maiden up and down, pale brow knitting in a frown, albeit a bittersweet smile cracked in his scarred features. ''What do they talk?''
Céolswith frowned, "Some say that I will not find work after this, and really, it will take time before I can figure out what I will do."
"Horse shit...." he growled at her. "And you know it, you...." He stepped away again just as quickly, throwing his hand into the air as he did so, the strong east wind blowing his unruly hair out of his face and allowing a glimpse into hazel green eyes emphasized by scarred features of the warrior. ''Saw many buried those of their family, friends, and this is the thing you brood into?'' he shook his head once again, soon a hand thrust to the west, ''Those people will need your service. Warriors will need a quartermaster...''
He hesitated to continue for a moment, eyeing her he found himself a bit emotional ''And I'll need you. Remember in Harwick, you've told you'll follow me in the night before our migration. And if you still think that way, Céolswith, now would be the time.''
Céolswith looked down at her wounded hand, grinding her teeth some, "I'm almost home... and I am my father's remaining child... I need to heal so I can take care of him. There are a lot of young sperewigends and folawigends that have sworn to you and can do the Quartermaster's job." She glanced up at him, softening her look, "And I know... I know why you asked me to stay in the Mead Hall when I could very well walk home and sleep there. It took me a while to figure out your feelings.''
Régnwald narrowed his eyes, dogged fatigue that clung to his eyes, now served to harden features. Finding himself struggling for mouth words, he wetted his lips, cleared his throat ''My feelings?'' he paused, gaze remained steady, it softened as it often did to the woman before him. Gloved fingers gave a gentle squeeze before dropping. ''Céolswith,'' he started, cursing himself inwardly. ''In truth, 'twas because I thought it would be good for you.''
Céolswith leaned against her spear, freeing her sword hand to rub her forehead, "Good for me? I hardly know what is good for me now... All I know is that I am just ready to move on from Stangard, as horrible it sounds. I understand the pain of losing love ones... I do not want to be around it again."
Régnwald continued ''And when I set out to find you, my thoughts were of are you still on your feet, have you holding your own, have you taken wounds...'' A small, sad smile now cracked across the man's scarred, bearded features. Allowing a heavy sigh, he paced toward her once more. A soft, steady voice uttered the next words in place of their previous, harsher tone. ''In there somewhere, I thought of your words too.'' a gloved hand came up to rub at his jaw. He looked tired. ''So I did not come to tie you to my horse and bring back, nay. You know how dangerous this is...'' Looking down, he added to her confusion ''I came to make sure you're safe. You can return to your father, you're under no oath.''
Céolswith kept to her thoughts before looking at him. She moved in to embrace him, setting her forehead on his chest, "You have been one of my greatest friends, in Harwick and Stangard. I hope the rest of the Mark can understand you and what happened here."
He was not expecting this, struggled to mask the half surprise. ''They'll understand.'' he answered. A sigh whistled from between his lips as he took a step back, casting a glance down to the blade that hung at her side ''Don't leave your sword, there's still a few miles to Harwick.''
Céolswith nodded, "It is one of the few items I hold dear. Death would have to take me before I throw it away."
The smile remained a sombre one, just the corner of his lip curling into a half smile. "Spoken like a true daughter of the Mark.''
After a long pause the Horselord offered a last, contented nod "Look after yourself Céolswith, we've lost much, let's none of us lose anything else." The words were spoken. With a breath drawn in what could have been resignation, he wandered away into the dawn's gloom.
