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Regnwald

What gnaws on the Eorlings' thoughts

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MEAD-HALL OF SNOWBOURNE / DAY
 

To Home-comings

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Régnwald blinked rapidly as the dim light, broken only by the two large fire pits at the hall's center, took over from light. At his first step, he gazed into the heavy gloom above the rafters. Carved Mearas reared, nostrils wide, their hooves kicking the open air and as they looked down on the Eorling, with a deeply-drawn breath, he advanced onward.

New shoes for the horse

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As ever, the heavily built Eorling's footfall betrayed his departure. Making to stride out, horn cup in hand. The man had become somewhat accustomed to the air of anger and disappointment over the past week, and he allowed the waves of ill feeling to wash over him for a few moments, standing tall, breathing deep.

Old Days

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Made by Eohilda.

The Carver

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Forthstann leant on a knee as he was carefully working a tool in the wooden figure of a horse. He looked a bit more grey than before, but otherwise doing his normal routine. Wood chips would be at his feet, showing that he'd been sitting there for a bit.

Inmost Thoughts of the Wayward

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''I will show you the way.'' spoke then the watchman.

Son of Régn, and Breca's bastard son named Hondscioh, loaded with their weaponry — shield, sword and spear, rode slowly across the even ground, led by Thorkel, the watchman of Harwick with his horse.

Treading Hooves Through the Wold

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The wild west wind blew fiercely once more in the Mark. Upon the hills, two tiny figures on horses were seen racing with great haste southward, to the meadows of the Wold, dwarfed by the towering snow-capped mountains. The horses were large with sweat, their breath a white cloud in the chilly air as they stretched under their heavy riders adorned in war-nets.

Hunters became the hunted

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''An ambush?'' the word escaped Langhund's mouth.

Guests for the Huntsman

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Somewhere up ahead, the cry of an owl pierced the leaden silence and woke the Eorling from his musings. Régnwald turned his head, his eyes gliding over the grey sky and he advanced forth, the hair was long, straw in hue and tangled as the shrugs he often found himself clambering through.

The Messenger

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Darkness fell in the winter forest. Mist lying beyond the small band of Eorlings, among the trees low. Régnwald slowed the company to a halt. He instructed, "We shall camp here in the woods for the night.

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