Caelia

"Welcome to the annual Foaling Festival! As Spring approaches it's end, we are gathered to celebrate the fertility of our lands as we sow them, the winter we have weathered, and--most importantly--the bounty of newborn foals! Come one and all, and take part in the games and feasting of the season! May the festival begin!  The first competition shall be archery!"

T'was a long night in Stangard, night before a battle and the Mead-hall of the village was full with bold-hearted Eorlings, from son to father and warrior to herdsman. They were invited by Dryhten. Bards were singing their songs of war and ancestors and playing on gilded lyres. The tables were lined with food and the pig roast turned over the pit, its juices falling into the fire with a sizzle. There was people sitting, standing, in corners and among the open spaces. Not a single space was empty.

She walked gracefully back to her room, her faked smile turning back into a worrisome scowl. And the room was not her room; it was a spare guest room of the Mead Hall. Her house was temporarily given to a woman that was not even supposed to be in Stangard. Her close friend, Cynebur, had left Forlaw to check on them and in the meantime, ran into a growing camp of orcs. That left Céolswith lying on her back in bed, which was uncomfortable in her mind, and staring at the ceiling while her recently broken nose throbbed and ached in pain from being broken in a sparring match.