Joy

A hundred roofs and chimneys, highlighted by the rising moon ensnare my eyes as the west-gate locks behind me. The road ahead becomes strangely compelling, climbing eastwards through the town, leading my eyes to the looming Menelvagor glittering in the night sky, guarding ceaselessly over the homes of these men. The rustic air is strong here as I wander up the paved street and processions of creaking wood and sharp snaps follow my strides from the many window shutters eitherside. The Swordsman becomes my only companion along this lonely road.

It was closely coming round to that time of year. The heat of the sun finally piercing the frost of the morning and encouraging flowers to blossom and leaves to grow. The home had remained almost the same, except for the traces of Drandr dotted hither and thither. He had left that morning to run a few errands, and with the thud of the door closing; the house cast within itself a shadow and a feeling of cold. Emptiness.

Perhaps it was the sheer length of time she had spent here, or rather; the amount she had spent pouring over endless repetitive entries in numerous binds; but these four walls had started to encroach, in a rather annoying fashion.

The gentle cawing of birds sifted through the open pane. The scent of a spring morn and grass clearing the dust and cobwebs. Joy awoke as the breeze drifted across her skin, raising her head from the table which had left its grain upon her cheek. The house was relatively still, which she was thankful of; it meant she had not overslept, or so the thoughts told her as they ran about her still sleep ridden mind. She was exhausted but she was able to find the effort to raise herself from her chair and wander over toward the bedroom.

Incessant was the pattering of rain in the dark. A rhythmic dripping from nose and limb to join that of one large puddle covering the entire causeway, at its base the water formed a larger mass swilling with that of the mud which slid from the banks of the pathway. Rows of men stood ankle deep in water, though one could easily count a dwindled number, only amounting to thirty shield arms.