Sedgebury

I should see my honor spent, as readily and as redly as blood. 

“Cease your bids for murder, you wretch,” she hisses, letting loose a stone across the ground. The heavy thunk where it sinks into the dirt sends a cry of alarm into the air as one crow takes flight; following it are many others, joining in the cacophony of piercing screams as they take into the night sky. The absence of the crows milling around offers her little comfort where she sits, by a cold hearth, acting as the lone warden to a dead man.

She turns the spearhead thrice over in her hand as though it is a ritual, the sleek metal cold on her fingertips. Her hands are warm and slick with sweat, heated by the ire that still burns warm in her breast. Her shoulders heave in sharp exhale as her thoughts mire and simmer on the outcome of the trial - or the excuse of a trial that it was. Aeshaeidr gently rubs her thumb along the slight curvature of the iron.