Henrey

Geoffrey, not even in his thirtieth year, limped over to the headless body of his father. Emptiness came over him now. For all his life he had felt alone when riding in the company, away from his wife and children. But now he was truly alone. His father lay slain before him, his brother too had fallen on the Greenway shortly before. Though the evening sun was warm in this summer, all Geoffrey felt was coldness. Beside his father was his sword that was cleaved in two – Avenger was its name, and for many years it was the terror of brigands and orcs alike.