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Having finished his interview with Eodwine (Scyld tried not to think of it as escaping), he found himself wishing to be alone to collect his thoughts. He collected a few items from among his belongings, put on a light cloak, and left the Hall. He headed for the Scar, crossing the fields and climbing the path that was engraved into his memory, even after so many years. The trail was muddy, making the way up both slicker and more treacherous than he remembered.
The view was worth it. With all of Scarburg and the surrounding area spread out before him, he felt like he had the distance he needed to breathe freely again. Dark clouds blew visibly from the west across the sky as the wind picked up. The plains below were illuminated by a diffuse, oddly colored light where some of the sun’s rays shone dimly from the eastern sky.
Rain would come, but not yet. He sat down and drew out the small, nearly finished pouch he had filled with a handful of tools and brought from the Hall. The pouch was usable as it was: the edges were precisely stitched, the flap fastened closed with a simple button, and a pair of loops in the back allowed it to be attached to a belt or strung through with a leather thong or string for wearing over a shoulder or around the neck. It only lacked for decoration.
Scyld was pleased with his work so far, and though he did not have a particular purpose yet in mind for it, he wanted something special for the design and had so far been uninspired. It might now also be one of the first pieces of work he would have to show at Scarburg, and he wanted to make a favorable impression.
He thought for a moment, his mind somewhere between his work and his turbulent thoughts: the relief after his conversation with Eodwine, the stress of his upcoming announcement to the rest of the Hall, Rowenna’s confusing behavior. He looked out again at the land, so luminous in the face of the upcoming storm. Something clicked, and he began lightly to outline his pattern. A confusing tangle it seemed at first: a vine, continuously interwoven with itself, sprouting leaves at irregular intervals to accent the twists and loops of the stem. Slowly a sense emerged from the tangle as the design took shape.
He was so absorbed in his work that he was caught off guard by the first drop of rain. He looked up and found that it had slowly grown steadily darker without his realizing it. He hastily stowed his tools and the pouch beneath his cloak and his shirt, held against his body to keep them dry, and hurried back down the way he came, hoping to make it back to the Hall before the worst of the storm came.
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