The sun's heat finally returned, pushing away the cold winds and snows that winter had brought with her. The goats, only a few weeks ago packed in their fluffy coats, were now shorn and their wool was already being put to use by the clans men to make new clothing. Cows plodded around near the water's edge, stooped low to drink plenty as their young suckled from their full teats. The heavy winter furs were stored away again, and now the lighter pelts decorated the bodies of the wild men that got about farming once more, eager to bring foods again.
The young white bulls, and those getting too old to plough the fields and and be of use in breeding were taken to the rowan trees, where the leaves had started to return; green and plenty. Derudh's paced around them, twining their horns and tails with cords of leather with feathers hanging from them while the stronger men held them by the rope that was attached to an iron ring pierced through their nostrils, hitting them with a stick to keep them in place.
"Rhi Helvarch! Gwrando ni, os gwelwch yn dda! Am fwyd! Am ffrwythlondeb ac am gryfder! Cymerwch rhain teirw!"*, a derudh with a long beard down to his chest shouted, his bony fingers shaking as he pointed to the bulls, who one by one had their throats cut swiftly and painlessly.
Elsewhere, near the Fords of the Isen, the Draig-Luth and Hebog-Luth were gathering in the summers sun, crude weapons shining in the sun as they stamped their boots into the lush grass surrounding a flat stone, stained with old blood that not even the rain could fully take away. Upon it sat men, once proud warriors of both Rohan and some even of Dunland, all now sharing the same fate with their wrists and ankles bound tightly. A Derudh, dressed for war with armour and fiery paints down his jaws stood near them with a knife in his hand.
"Rhi Helvarch! Gwrando ni, os gwelwch yn dda! Am rhyfel! Am fuddugoliaeth ac am gryfder!"**, the Derudh stepped forth, and with each demand he spoke, he plunged the knife into another, and then another until he raised his blood dripping blade into the sky.
In the small village of Barnavon, small children were running about, each of them taking stones and trinkets they've gained to a small little pile where and old woman sat, her eyes silvery where they were once dark brown and her hair grey and reaching her back. She let out a wrinkled smile as a young girl ran close, hearing her shallow breath as she settled down by the pile and set down an arrowhead.
"Rhi Helvarch, gwrando ni, os gwelwch yn dda. Am gariad, am deulu ac am gryfder.***", the old woman spoke out softly as her wrinkled hand passed over the pile of stones, feathers and bits that the children had found.
On top of a small hill, the large warrior Pren was knelt by a small hollow, inside was feathers and pelts with eggs and meat also packed in. He glanced over towards his wife, who was standing nearby with her red hair stretching down her back. The bear-fur cladded man turned back, and rearranged the eggs.
"Rhi Helvarch, gwrando fy ngeiriau, os gwelwch yn dda. Am gariad, am ffrwythlondeb, am deulu ac am gryfder. Diolch, Rhi Helvarch."****, Pren muttered out as he covered the hole filled with offerings up with the soil he had excavated in the first place.
Translations
* - "Rhi Helvarch (Huntsman!). Hear us, please! For food! For fertility and for strength!" -
** - "Rhi Helvarch! Hear us, please! For war! For victory and for strength!"
*** - "Rhi Helvarch, hear us please. For love, for family and for strength."
**** - "Rhi Helvarch, hear my words, please. For love, for fertility, for family and for strength. Thank you, Rhi Helvarch."
