Scarburg Meadhall

[littlemanpoet]

Eodwine had risen from his couch. He strolled, hands clasped behind his back, along the wall, the wind blowing strong, looking south and east and north. He was feeling much better than he had when first he had awakened.

But it was cold. He was wearing a cloak, fur lined, and hugged it around himself. It was a wind from the south. Though cold, it held the promise of the Sea, and Eodwine thought that he could catch the salt scent of it, even these many leagues north of it. It was invigorating.

He heard footsteps behind him and a polite cough. He turned. It was the Master of the Houses of Healing.

"Good afternoon, sir," Eodwine said.

"I see you are up," the Master said meaningfully.

"Yes! I'm feeling quite well!"

"That is good," nodded the elderly man, his hands folded before him. "Do remember that you woke just this morn after a long illness, and you are mending."

Eodwine smiled. "Yes, I know. Be careful, do not rush things. You wish not to have to care for me, sickened after a brief moment of health."

The Master smiled beneficently. "Good. You understand. But that is not why I have come to you. The King has heard of your wakefulness, and invites you to sup with himself and the Queen this evening, if you feel well enough. I think it perhaps unwise, as it seems to rush things, but the King's will is the King's will. I am required to tell you that you may refuse if you do not feel well enough."

"I would be honored!" Eodwine said.