Hildfrith

Heartha rode back into the village with a cursory wave and a nod to the guards on the gate. Her white horse looked almost fresh. No long, hard ride from Helm’s Deep then, one could easily suppose. Neither did the smith herself look overly drawn or travel weary. 

The guards nodded back at the well recognised face, and waved her on.

Hild had waited until she had counted all the men leaving the Dragon. There had been eight in the cellar that night. Nine including Paega. He had told them it would be the last meeting for some time. Captain Denholm was keeping an ever closer eye on who entered the village. They had understood, though muttered a little about the curtailing of their ‘sport’. 

Hild was still trying to work out quite what her husband was up to at breakfast the following morning. She was talkative at the meal, hoping to find out a little more from him, and tucked into the porridge she had made. Paega was a little quieter, and ate less. He made appropriate replies to her, in a slightly distracted manner. He asked about how her idea for a written menu, for those few who could read, was coming along. He asked if she had found anyone yet to actually write in for her?

“I would like you and Brona to spend this summer with my cousin in Belfalas,” Paega announced. 

Hild looked over at him, seated the other side of the fire from herself, part in shadow, part illuminated by the flames and the candle close by. She laughed. 

Heartha had already scouted out the area agreed upon, when the others arrived. She had found very few signs of boar, even there. The hilly woodlands to the east of Bancross were usually teeming with wild boar. Why was there such a shortage this year? The hunting party may yet have to rely on the results of fishing, or possibly a moose or two, to fill the mouths of their folk, she mused.