Raedwald
Rædwald’s eyes narrowed as the group approached a wide grassy area. It was the end of autumn, but still the tall clumps of brown stalks and ragged yellowed leaves stood, like little sentinels waving their torn banners in the breeze. He raised a hand to halt the other riders and motioned them forward.
‘There,’ he said, pointing toward a space in the field before them where something large lay lumped beneath a blanket.
‘They passed here, Fion and Osmod. Osmod’s horse a little in the lead. And the tracks lead near the thing that lies covered in the grasses.’ He loosed his lance from the saddle holder and held it firmly in his right hand. The heft of it against his palm brought a flood of old sensations. And while they were familiar, not all of them were pleasantly recalled.
‘Loose your weapons and have them at the ready,’ he instructed the two women.
Sythric had by this time caught up to them. He drew up alongside Rædwald and perused the little scene before them. It was decided they would ride slowly across the field to where the blanket covered thing lay.
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