story

Haedley hurried off through the streets of Harwick, not even noticing that he had forgotten his armour in his witlessness. His mind was a mess and he had not even time to think of it. His mind was now bent onto the worry of what may become of him, and on top of it all he was hungry. His blonde braid was bobbing upon his back and some folk turned to greet him, but he did not notice at all. Then soon he arrived at the path to the Mead Hall and skid into a stop, now calming down and gasping for breaths as he approached. 

She beheld him, her cheeks blazed red with blush, and needless to say that his did too. Both in shock; neither had words, neither knew what to say. However, some one had to break the silence or the awkwardness of the moment, Haedley wished to nestle  deeper beneath his blanket like a turtle that could hide in its shell when faced with danger. It was an awkward exchange of stares, and both of them felt it.

Then suddenly a familiar voice called out from above,
"You!"

The Blooming

Chapter II

Flowers of the Spring

The Blooming

Chapter I

((Follow On of Events from "Finally: the woman, parchment and a messenger come together" > http://laurelinarchives.org/node/13281 <))

Seraile whipped round when he heard steps behind him, only to find a very weather beaten man, walking up to him, warily.

Seraile himself was ragged, worn, his clothes partly tattered; he had been away again, in search for what always evaded him, death, the release from the pain of the world; the slaughter of the North Downs had driven him to madness.

This is more-or-less, reference information describing his relatives briefly.

Father: Harold.