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Arry · 01-31-2006, 04:21 AM

Wulfham

What little there had been left of the night had escaped Brand altogether. He’d hauled out his old leather pack, the one he used when he was out in the summer’s moving from camp to camp as the sheep moved from one grassy area to another. Clothes were folded and rolled into small bundles and placed in the bottom compartment. A small wooden box with a few salves and bandages went into a side pocket. Opposite it, there were candles and his little box with flint and steel for fire. Cord snares and a few netted traps were rolled small and tucked into a small front pocket. A trio of waterskins, and the nested pots burnt black from many cooking fires were tucked into a canvas bag along with a small pouch of salt. Some rope, a small hatchet were secured to the pack. His short sword made ready. And of course, his bedroll.

His mother had made a pot of good strong tea laced with honey to keep them awake as the family got him and themselves ready to go. His father had groomed Brand’s chestnut mare until she gleamed and given her an extra portion of oats for the journey’s start. His sister’s husbands would look after his sheep, mingling them in with their own as they made their own journey toward the King and his protection.

‘And now who’ll be looking after Patch, here?’ he asked, his hand going down to scratch the head of his dog. ‘He’d best go with you, Da. He’s used to you. And you can use him to keep the flock in line. He crouched down and spoke softly to the dog. And for his part, Patch seemed to understand. With a gesture of his hand, Brand bade the hound sit by his father, telling him he must stay.

He mounted up, his family gathering about him, touching him as they spoke their farewells. His mother, he could see was near to tears, her daughters arms around her for support. His father, a man of few words, looked up at the cloudless morning sky and nodded his head in approval. ‘Well, then,’ he said, ‘best be off while the going is good. There’s a fair wind coming in from the west. Be good ridin’ weather.’ His voice trailed off; his eyes gone a little bright. ‘Darn near forgot this,’ he went on, handing up Brand’s oaken cudgel. ‘Go on now. They be waitin’ for you,’ he finished. And with a light slap to the mare’s hindquarters, he sent Brand racing toward the march-warden’s hall.

----------

‘Whoa up, M’Lady!’ Brand called to his mare as they entered the courtyard. The march-warden’s hall and yard were already a beehive of activity. To his right he saw one of the other chosen riders motioning him over. He picked his way carefully through the piles of possessions that Aldwulf’s family had set out to sort through.

‘Dorran, isn’t it?’ he said to the younger man as he dismounted. ‘Can you show me where we’re to pick up our food and water and such? And the march-warden, did he say if he had any final instructions for us?’ He looked about for a moment. ‘And have the women . . . that is, the other riders, gotten here yet?’

01-31-2006, 04:21 AM	#9
Arry Ghost Prince of Cardolan Join Date: Jan 2004 Posts: 704	Wulfham What little there had been left of the night had escaped Brand altogether. He’d hauled out his old leather pack, the one he used when he was out in the summer’s moving from camp to camp as the sheep moved from one grassy area to another. Clothes were folded and rolled into small bundles and placed in the bottom compartment. A small wooden box with a few salves and bandages went into a side pocket. Opposite it, there were candles and his little box with flint and steel for fire. Cord snares and a few netted traps were rolled small and tucked into a small front pocket. A trio of waterskins, and the nested pots burnt black from many cooking fires were tucked into a canvas bag along with a small pouch of salt. Some rope, a small hatchet were secured to the pack. His short sword made ready. And of course, his bedroll. His mother had made a pot of good strong tea laced with honey to keep them awake as the family got him and themselves ready to go. His father had groomed Brand’s chestnut mare until she gleamed and given her an extra portion of oats for the journey’s start. His sister’s husbands would look after his sheep, mingling them in with their own as they made their own journey toward the King and his protection. ‘And now who’ll be looking after Patch, here?’ he asked, his hand going down to scratch the head of his dog. ‘He’d best go with you, Da. He’s used to you. And you can use him to keep the flock in line. He crouched down and spoke softly to the dog. And for his part, Patch seemed to understand. With a gesture of his hand, Brand bade the hound sit by his father, telling him he must stay. He mounted up, his family gathering about him, touching him as they spoke their farewells. His mother, he could see was near to tears, her daughters arms around her for support. His father, a man of few words, looked up at the cloudless morning sky and nodded his head in approval. ‘Well, then,’ he said, ‘best be off while the going is good. There’s a fair wind coming in from the west. Be good ridin’ weather.’ His voice trailed off; his eyes gone a little bright. ‘Darn near forgot this,’ he went on, handing up Brand’s oaken cudgel. ‘Go on now. They be waitin’ for you,’ he finished. And with a light slap to the mare’s hindquarters, he sent Brand racing toward the march-warden’s hall. ---------- ‘Whoa up, M’Lady!’ Brand called to his mare as they entered the courtyard. The march-warden’s hall and yard were already a beehive of activity. To his right he saw one of the other chosen riders motioning him over. He picked his way carefully through the piles of possessions that Aldwulf’s family had set out to sort through. ‘Dorran, isn’t it?’ he said to the younger man as he dismounted. ‘Can you show me where we’re to pick up our food and water and such? And the march-warden, did he say if he had any final instructions for us?’ He looked about for a moment. ‘And have the women . . . that is, the other riders, gotten here yet?’