31st October 1102
“Good evening folks”, Kelgar crooned strolling around the corner.
“Christ I wish yew would quit with the corny sometimes Kelgar”, Osras muttered under his breath, striding up to stand next to his brother.
31st October 1102
“Thank yew Igrayne”, Arran said softly with a smile as she bent down to retrieve his empty plate.
31st October 1102
Despite the occasional cool breeze twining around Igrayne’s body like the breath of a lost soul, the party was remarkably cosy. They were seated around the heavy wooden table, lovingly notched together by Noah’s steady hands. Although the world around was dark and forbidding, they had created a small pocket of warmth and conviviality within the radius of the light from the dancing flames.
31st October 1102
Igrayne plunged her hands into the steaming water. They slid below the surface, hidden momentarily beneath a haze of steam. When they reappeared she could see them magnified, pink and chapped from years of hard work. She was unpleasantly reminded that they were not hands becoming of a lady’s maid. Perhaps she had risen above her status as scullion, but the rough skin on her hands would never let her forget from where she had come.
31st October, 1102
Igrayne rounded the corner in time to see Polina launching her swollen body at Arran.
“Arran love!”, she cried slightly too enthusiastically, “Happy Birthday!”
21st October 1102
The Hunter’s moon rose warily from behind the dark shadow of the mountains, filling the valley with a pallid, glowing light. It gazed down upon the hurrying figures, searching and dull like a giant blinded eye. It stared, unblinking at their terror, creamy yellow and mottled as though marred by cataracts and age.
Ominous rain-laden clouds dangled above them, black and swollen, pressing their heavy weight down to engulf the rising crags of the mountain. The wind whipped at the exposed hillside, rattling through the dead trees their brittle branches creaking balefully at the disturbance. The air was thick with a dank, clammy mist that seeped in underneath the skin to chill their very hearts.
Harndall shivered drawing his arms around his body as the bitter wind tore at the heavy material of his robe. The crumbling remains of the old church clung to the mountainside behind him, like some rearing arachnid, the broken stained glass of its many eyes fixed on Harndall as it shifted its buttressed legs.
Kelgar staggered into the kitchen. The smell of freshly baking bread filled his nostrils, a welcome respite from the stench of his own sweat mingled with Vance’s blood. The first rays of sunlight were peering over the mountaintops, staining the morning with gold. At the breaking of the dawn Vance’s face had been warm once more, glowing pink with the sun’s kiss where before it had been pallid in the moon’s draining embrace. He looked peaceful, his face relaxing as the night chill was dispelled.
He inwardly cursed as he looked up to see the early morning bustle of the kitchen had begun. He had been hoping to find only Osras breaking his fast before taking over guard duty from Kelgar, and perhaps Polina. It was much worse he thought, as his gaze fell on Illewen who was softly cooing to her baby as Polina stoked the cools beneath the giant pot of porridge that hung perilously close to the flames. Though she was bent over he could clearly see the swollen outline of her belly where she carried his brother’s second child. At Illewen’s feet sat Osra’s firstborn, his niece, Esther, thumping her tiny feet against the packed earth floor.
Kelgar scraped his back against the wall in irritation, the rusty links of mail rasping against his back. He had an itch in the most impossible of places and it was driving him half-mad.
“I can only stay for a little while today my love”, Radomir said congenially as he carefully sat on the edge of the bed, “If you are lonely I can ask one of the women to come and sit with you”.
