Criba

It is time to move on from the battle, for all of Bancross. 

It is time for me to set in motion those actions that will see my village regain its grasp on a normal, everyday life. 

Hild shielded the candle flame with her hand, to lessen its light, as she peered round the door. She did not want to wake Brona from her sleep. She just wanted to check. To make sure she was actually there, back in her own bed. 

What sort of man am I become, that lies and false promises drip from my quill and from my tongue? I was raised to hold honour highly, to speak truth, or not at all. I was raised to hold to my word, to keep any oaths I uttered, any promises I made.

For what is a man without his honour? 

Heartha woke at her regular time, just before dawn. She yawned, stretched her strong arms up above her to ease a slight crick in her shoulder, stretched her long legs one at a time. She smiled. 

To Denholm, Captain of the garrison in Bancross,

It has come to my notice that you have in the garrison cell one minor offender of the name, Criba. His master has been asking after his whereabouts, and as the man holds particularly entertaining dinners, I do not want the action of one of my people to cause him offense. 

I awoke before dawn, to find I lay alone in our bed. Reaching a hand over, I felt the blankets on his side still held his warmth. Waelden had not risen long ago. 

“Who are you?” I called out. “What do you want?”