Brynleigh

It had been another rainy day. Not cold exactly, but the sort of day it was good to be helping out in the kitchen rather than the fields. And that is what both Bronaa and Ethel had been doing until recently. 

Under Yllfa’s careful watch, Bronaa had been making a syrup to ease winter ailments. The autumn was slowly progressing, and the chill months ahead often saw more of the older folk in particular laid low with chest and head pains, and with stubborn coughs. It could lead to the death of weaker folk, both old and young. 

There was an ominous aura of melancholy on the streets of Bancross in the days after the battle. The worried faces and itching sword-arms had been quietly replaced by tear-filled eyes, hunched backs and feet dragging on the ground behind them. While our dead could be counted in a handful, the pained and wounded were more plentiful; some with missing limbs, while others got away with only deep cuts and bruises. The east-borne enemy had not fared as well.