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Eodwine
He woke up, opened his eyes. The sun's light was shining in through the small window. Eodwine watched the dust particles floating in the air. He yawned and stretched, and could see the vapor from his own breath. Brrrr!
Get up? You must be joking. He sighed. He threw the covers off, hopped around the bed, splashed icy water on his face, felt completely awake, and hurried into his breeches and tunic. And vest. And woolen socks. And shoes. And overcoat. And cloak.
He hurried out of the room, his teeth chattering, down the stairs, to the Hall, and in, and stopped.
"Ahhhh!"
Warmth.
He shuffled over to the hearth and held his hands out in a silent benediction to the fire. Finally he could think about something besides being cold and wanting warmth.
"Drat," he murmured. He had just remembered that buffoon, Scyrr. He would have to go to the Eorl and discuss redress for the injury sustained. It almost put him in a sour mood. He would just have soon forgotten the whole thing if it hadn't happened before them all. Ah, the pains of leadership. He griped to himself, went to the kitchen, bid a quick good morning to all the women working there, grabbed some bread and a wooden cup of water, and made off to see Athanar.
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