The sun began its retreat behind the calm seas. It laid its fingers across the water, painting the harbor with glowing, soft tones of red and yellow. In the distance, frail forms of his kindred walked gingerly down onto the docs, casting long shadows upon the deep azure of the ocean. It was all so peaceful.  

The towering fire burnt itself down to embers. Eerie majesty in the wake of destruction. Orange reflected, throbbing like an easy pulse in the rippled reflection over the water.

Yellow and blue.

She'd been sought by him, and reacted with that regal, reserved composure. So cautious, never pushing or pining like the others. Never allowing signs of what his play at testing boundaries had wrought.

A sweet flower scented breeze rolled across serene fields. Clouds lazily drifted across 1an azure sky. Far off in the distance near the tree line, a few horses were grazing. A small farmhouse stood not far from them. No smoke coiled from the chimney this lazy summer day.

Egfor stood at the center of this meadow landscape, all of his senses taking in the somewhat familiar place and sensations. He closed his eyes and tilted his head up towards the sun, letting it heat his face as a smile drifted across his face. 

You set me body mind and spirit all alight with the first words, first touch, first look, first kiss.
Since then, I have been yours and only yours.
Every fiber of my being screams and yearns for you. Lightening striking a dry field, light me up. Burn me, consume me.
I want to rip you apart with teeth and claws. I wish to feast upon you. Taste you, devour you, become one with you. 
Take my hand, let me guide you.
You have cut through my skin, swordsman.
You've pierced my heart, hunter.
Rend me apart, piece by piece.

Wil Foxglove stares long at his newest creation. With the assistance of a visiting Eorling, he was able to complete a fine sword. His meaty, hairy hands grasp the hilt: despite his inexperience with swords, he lifts it with ease and allows the sunlight of the midday to grace its metal form. He flashes a toothy smile, proud of his handiwork. At this rate, he could make a dozen swords and sell them for a significant price on the wider market. The Watch might even use the swords--if they knew how to use them in the first place--or else he is stuck crafting clubs and staves again.

      Months passed, and I still didn’t go back. I lived on the streets, grabbing what scraps I could find. Theft was an option I often resorted to, and quickly grew adept at. I wasn’t proud of it then, but it kept me alive… barely. My eyes grew dull, my limbs thinned, and my strength started to leave me. No child should have to live like that.

“Daughter of mine, will you ever marry?” Her father asks her one day beneath the weeping willow tree; a dried-up creek-bed ran beside their feet, the current still alive with crickets and toads and the stagnant rainwater of a world that had not yet washed the sins of the first away with its rushing flood. 

Nethrida took a deep breath and nodded, taking control of the situation. "We'll have to keep our eyes open... It grieves me, but I do not believe any one of us is safe here..."

A tense silence at Nethrida’s dark words would spread, until Finchley spoke, her voice filled with certainty and relief.

Egfor sat down at a table in the Hammer and the Harp, bringing a candle with him. He sets the candle on the table, close enough to read from. He opens the little chest of artifacts and documents he received from his sister.

The first thing he lifts out of the box was an amulet carved from bone of a stag's head. He lifts it up, running his fingers over the carved surface. He holds it in his hand, closing his fingers around it, closing his eyes for a moment. He grabbed the leather cord attached to it, sliding it around his neck and tucking it under his shirt.