"... There forged was blade, and bound was hilt;
The delver mined, the mason built.
There beryl, pearl, and opal pale,
And metal wrought like fishes' mail. -"
A rustle in the nearby bushes halted his song and grabbed attention. Thoughtlessly, the man's hand found the hilt of the dagger by his hip, as tension set in his muscles, eyes watching the bushes nearby.
Soon, a grin stretched his lips, a foolish feeling set in the mind upon seeing a small fox scurry from underneath the leaves, chasing a simple field mouse.
Rowan chuckled and shook his head."I need to calm down" he muttered to himself, the hand letting go of the knife.
As he sat back against the ruined wall, the wanderer found himself looking over his journal entries, furrowing his brows upon realizing that some had been forgotten already, while some things he didn't even remember writing.
The man grunted irritably and crossed out a sentence from one of the first entries,instead moving to the next. There his smile returned as he read the entry over, reminded of the minstrel that had lost her way and found him by the glow of the campfire.
"Gwen." He murmured, recalling the woman's name despite not having written it down. Rowan continued, a warm smile found him as he read over the first verses he could remember from the song the minstrel had gifted him that evening.
There were two sisters in the north
lay the bent to the bonny broom
and they lived in their mother's house
and you'll beguile a lady soon.
There came a man, one evening' late
lay the bent to the bonny broom
and he came knocking' at the gate
and you'll beguile a lady soon.
The eldest sister let him in
lay the bent to the bonny broom
and locked the door with a silver pin
and you'll beguile a lady soon.
He could nearly hear her voice again, and the tune was there though he couldn't grasp it. Perhaps she would visit again once her business was done, at least part of him hoped for it. The company had been pleasant and the gift of a song had lightened his spirits in a way he had not enjoyed for a long time.
In his idle thoughts, the man reached into the satchel to pull out a small wooden figurine that he had kept. His thumb brushed over the broken foot of the animal, then moved to graze its back and tail. Already he had tried to fix it many times and yet it kept breaking off to a point he had given up trying, much to his distaste.
His mood grew heavier as a bitter past sprang to his mind, the figurine shifted and grasped by the palm of his hand before being put away again. Perhaps one day he'd try and fix that fox's broken leg again.
The days came and went, spent on gathering supplies to store for the coming winter. Once he found some rest during mid-day, the man's eyes turned towards the forgotten journal, and while he had little to write, he felt it was time to add something.
The north wind blows today, and I can see now that I will have to build a better shelter if I am going to stay here. That, or find another place to spend the winter.
I have gathered supplies, but I still lack food. I will have to head into town and see what the lodge will allow me to hunt and what they will charge. Perhaps I can find some rabbits or hares to make jerky out of; it will have to do.
Might do me well to find another job in town and save my coin for some pork and salt, if it is not too late. Maybe the huntress has something. I will visit her and shelter from the winds today, see what she can tell me.
The book was shut and stuffed into the satchel, along with a few other items he did not wish to leave behind. Once his shelter was covered, and the fire extinguished, Rowan began his track into the forest to find the shed once more.
