byrge

Leoffrith is trying not to pace. The ruins, kind of lonely and noble in their austerity, let in the sunshine of a lovely day, but there's no decorations beyond the stones; all the celebration is to happen elsewhere, after the ceremony. Leoffrith fidgets in his gold-bedecked tunic.
Taite hobbles over the sunlit grass, smiling as the weather whispers of coming spring. Demurely holding up the front of her skirt a little, she pauses when she sees Leoffrith, then nods in relief when he invites her in.

At spear training, Heriwulf had talked about the deep, steady breathing that helps a warrior maintain both the body and the mind. How you breathe is one of the easiest things to learn, and the hardest things to keep up in the heat of the moment, and most important things that made a good warrior a great one, though no one knew it. You need both air and calm to survive the challenges; and steady, deep breaths, in through the nose and out through the mouth, give both.

His youngest child to Bóurr son of Bíld of Erebor greeting.

This letter I pen many weeks later than I ought to have, to my shame; I apologize profusely, but I will be consoled that my winter letters are like to pile up on the western side of the Misty Mountains regardless.