Egfor's knees were screaming at him in protest. He was crouched for gods know how long by the table in his house, trying to coax Cat the Dog out from under the table with a piece of fish jerky- usually his favourite treat. Mortermon adopted this dog from Egfor before they were a proper couple. Since his death, Cat has not left from under the table. He would dart out with the other dogs to do their business just to resume his position under the table.

The sun blazed high over the square outside Sedgebury's meadhall as Osythe, Óswine, and a growing crowd of witnesses gathered to see the duel. Only three paces from the meadhall's doors, a dueling-cloak had been spread over the stones of the path. It was worn from the feet of many disputing warriors; the color, once a rich scarlet, had faded over the generations. 

(Previously...)         

After Daphne first met her grandmother, the middle-aged woman insisted she stay with the family in their home. The house was very large and fairly lavish, but also held the whispers of memories of a time it had not been nearly so empty. Now, it only held Daph's grandmother, a few servants, a friend of her grandmother's and her Aunt Berarna, who was only around ten years older than Daphne herself and remained unmarried.  

She was going on the planned hunt. That was that. 

Watching the fire devour the parchment in the same way a hungry dog tears into a meal after months of winter did little to stop the bile rising in his throat. Nimlachon leans back in his chair, holding the letter over the candle’s flame to let it burn. He stays in that posture, with his eyes glued to the flames until the very last of the letter fell away to ash.