Beornings

Volbjorn’s honey eyes flickered an amber glow in the light of the fire as he knelt by its warmth. He breathed slow, deep inhales with measured, prolonged exhales as he focused his mind and body on the task ahead. He knew now it was by design the little sparrow lead his steps to the town of Combe, and as he sat he began to recall the events that led him into the dark of Chetwood under the black of the New Moon.
 

Rynel was growing on her, both figuratively and literally — the pup was getting undeniably bigger, though he still barely weighed anything in Ljota’s lap. She was actually starting to look forward to having him and Breon in the hut, but for right now the shed would suffice.