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Old 09-23-2007, 06:22 AM   #181
littlemanpoet
Itinerant Songster
 
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Join Date: Jan 2002
Location: The Edge of Faerie
Posts: 7,072
littlemanpoet is battling Black Riders on Weathertop.littlemanpoet is battling Black Riders on Weathertop.
The seven days between the feast and the hunt passed quickly for some and slowly for others. For those eager for the hunt, time passed slowly. For those dreading the coming war, time passed all too quickly. For many, however, the needs of each day's tasks drew enough of their thought away from either the hunt or the muster, and the days passed as all of them did.

Khandr's household was busy with the preparations and time sped quickly by, except for Embla who cared not for hunts or household business. All her interest had now gone to the woman, Jord, whose grandeur hid something she craved.

The house of Ulfang was busy with the muster, the hunt being a mere afterthought for which the three sons left the preparations to servants. Their time was occupied with currying what favor it was still worthwhile to be had from Ulfang, and their own positions as opposed to each other in the eyes of all the Ulfings. In this battle Uldor had the upper hand. Ulfast and Ulwarth chafed at Ulfang's favor to their elder brother, and they plotted with their friends how to use either the hunt or the muster, or the upcoming battle, to advance their causes.

The houses of Dag and Káta were full of daily need and fear for the future. Dag and Gunna had Mem's fears to deal with as well. She had been forced to sing before the entire company, and her simple voice weaving the spell of the old song of their folk had stilled the entire audience. But Ulfasts's unwelcome attentions afterward had left Mem shaken. Lord's sons were wont to cast their glances where they liked, and common folk might be as protective as they liked, and still not be able to wholly protect their loved ones. So Dag and Gunna tried to calm Mem's fears, well knowing that what Ulfast wanted, Ulfast could have. Mem's face was drawn and pale, her eyes dry and her fingers shaking at their weaving. The days dragged.

For Lachrandir the Elf and his servant Tathren, the cares of Men were of little concern, and the days and nights passed as they always did. Tathren gathered what news he could, and reported it to Lachrandir.

So when Thorn arrived, with Fleet, in the main hold of the Ulfings, few noticed. This was well enough, for it afforded Thorn a chance to learn what he could before he spoke word of what he knew.

And then the morning of the hunt arrived.

Last edited by littlemanpoet; 11-02-2007 at 08:23 PM.
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