Eorlingas

Régnwald grunted, his armour matching it with a groan. Leaning forward, but not so much to leave the warmth of the spot he had settled on, he stirred the pot that hung from it's tripod above a weak fire. The flame, nestled in it's firepit, sent smoke in tendrils, snaking about the cauldron.

Werendor stepped outside, soon surprised by a couple of children who seemed to have followed him. He turns to them to scold them, with the few words he can muster in Rohirric and urge them to get back inside.

Régnwald walked along the edge of Stangard village, looking over...

...some Eorlings making adjustments to their weapons, one mending his jerkin, another whittling a fish from wood.

He passed an old shed, only to find Thorkel on the other side, kissing a young Stangard widow.

Régnwald watched a moment more than he otherwise might briefly transfixed, he turned away then continued on over to a field, where Hondscioh and Elfgast were practising sword-play.

The night was calm as the training hall was locked up. A light, cheerful chatter went on, coming mostly from a young folawigend to the older woman next to him. The woman had a bit of a grin as the young man told stories about trying to train a wild horse with his father.

She never understood why her father did not talk about his work, outside of his glories in battle, but it was beginning to come to her. Keeping track of an entire town's stock, both for the Eored and for the Fyrds was beginning to wear Ceolswith down. First it was the matter of the stolen horseshoes.

It took some time, but she and Aodhred found out that there were men stealing the shoes. For what, she did not know. The small band was quiet recently since they last ambushed the two of them. She still needed to talk to Aodhred about it, but another matter was coming up.

Langhund raised up and down in the saddle as Hrimfell, donned in armour of leather and chain with pouches and satchels upon his back along with his rider, trotted swiftly down the dirt path. A glimpse of light came to the hunter's eye, as he spotted a fire near a tree followed with tents falling into his view next. He rode forth, sending a hail as he called out. "Westhu!"

Fram and Gram
 

Fram and Gram were born in one hall!
They grew side by side, as they grew strong and tall!
Shared most things, only quarrelled now and then,
In twenty years they were fine young men,
In twenty years they were fine young men!