faire

Gudthrun |There was at once the soft cry of a brass horn by the fountain. From the crowd stepped a woman, silver-haired and draped in green with a red emblem stitched to her chest—the setting sun of the Reeve of West-March. The two guards were stoic beside her as she found her footing on the bench and cleared her throat. "To the King's subjects of Fréasburg!" she began, her voice as sharp as the horn-cry. "Gather around to hear his news!" Gudthrun waited only a moment for some of the noise to settle, but she did not appear a woman of patience.