New shoes for the horse
As ever, the heavily built Eorling's footfall betrayed his departure. Making to stride out, horn cup in hand. The man had become somewhat accustomed to the air of anger and disappointment over the past week, and he allowed the waves of ill feeling to wash over him for a few moments, standing tall, breathing deep.
Sigered glanced over his shoulder at Régnwald, the tall Man of Rohan raising a curious eyebrow. He turned around, revealing the ragged eyepatch over where his right eye should be as he opened his mouth to speak. "Yeah? What?" He asked, grunting the question.
Régnwald advanced forward and tilted his great, shaggy head back a way, eyes rolling as he did so. His gaze, until now distant and watery, came once more into sharp focus. He spared the man a solid nod, ''G'day.''
Sigered turned his intense one-eyed gaze from the man to look back over to the stable. "Good day." He muttered, seeming rather uninterested in the man. His equipment seemed to be mostly of Rohan-make, except for an incredibly ornate sword whose decorated hilt peeked out from the scabbard.
Régnwald sucked in the fresher air, straightening some and a hand gently rested upon his ancient sword's hilt, eyes closed, he clenched them even. Exhaling slowly, he set the cup down upon the stone fence, small droplets of amber liquid leapt high from the vessel as salmon in autumn. Wiping his mouth with his leather-clad elbow, the mid-aged warrior would watch the locals on their work.
''Can't tell if the scent of smoke on the wind is the cooking fires or bandits. -- So I hope you'll forgive me if I seem... Blunt.'' said Sigered.
Régnwald drifted his gaze to hold the man's gaze, ''Tis breakfast time, so I deem it is the former.'' head cocked to the side, split by a faint, rueful grin. ''Besides, I daresay the bandits ever camp so nigh the burgh. They would be hunted down like dogs. Anyhow, some time was sped since I last came to Snowbourne.''
Sigered huffed a laugh, or what seemed to pass as a laugh for the grim man. "Perhaps. There is much I do not know of Snowbourn, it would seem." His emerald eye turned back to the waving standards flying high above the gate. "Not a local, then?" He asked in response.
Régnwald would spare a brief, solemn shake of his head, ''For some years, I've ridden with my band of men in the fields of Eastemnet, holding my allegiance to thane lord in Snowbourne. Yet nay, I cannot say I'm a local.'' the man uttered a sigh as his words sank, taking a brief sip from the cup, more of manners than thirst, he cocked his head. ''What of you? Which region of the Mearc ya came from?''
Sigered turned his gaze towards the other man for a brief moment. "I'm from Cliving, in the Norcrofts." He said simply. "A band of men you say? I ask your pardon, but, from your demeanor, I hardly think you to be a thane or reeve."
Régnwald did not fight to mask his demeanor, a faint smile escaped him, a smile that was soon to disappear. ''Nay, I'm neither of them.'' it was replied, breathing, he paused. The man's jaw worked around silent words for a few long moments before they were found, and given voice. ''I've served as a mægisterwigend --patrol leader in Athelward's éored.''
Sigered nodded his head, his calm expression replaced with intrigue. "I see. A prestigious position to be sure," he said. "Are the rest of your riders in Snowbourn with you?"
Régnwald tilted his head lightly in thanks for the man's compliment ''No,'' he leaned his side to the stone, so he would better see the man, heavy arms folded across his chest, the rugged Eorling unlocked his word-hoard ''Each mægisterwigend is responsible for small units of twenty men, called patrols.'' -- ''Tis been more than eight winters since my duty here was over.'' the mid-aged Eorling lowered his gaze. ''So I do not have quite the acquaintance with the most of the horsemen here; though I have a cousin.'
Sigered nodded. "I see..." He muttered, focusing on a steed over by the stable. "It would seem my steed finally has had its new shoes fitted." He said, casting his gaze back to the large Rohirrim. "It seems it is time for me to ride home," he said.
Régnwald gazed aside for the barest of moments and then eyed the man, something akin to firmness growing in the mid-aged Eorling's scarred, battered visage. He would then offer a firm hand. ''Fair enough. May your ride be swift and safe.'' head cocked, ''How can I adress you?''
Sigered turned to walk away, only stopping to glance back to give his name. "Sigered. And yourself?" He asked.
Régnwald would utter his name with a sigh while trying to find sense in the man's last action. ''Régnwald.''
Sigered furrowed his brow, yet returned with a nod. "It was... Pleasant speaking with you, Régnwald. If you ever find yourself in Cliving, I'll welcome you into my home." With that, he headed towards the stables.