Protector of the Big Folk (June 2994) - [Ceolmund]
Jan 31, 2018 15:38:13 GMT -5
Post by Runa on Jan 31, 2018 15:38:13 GMT -5
Gisillia had begged and pleaded for Runa to help her choose a dress for the midsummer festival that was fast approaching. “All the boys will be there,” she had said in that crystalline, almost too sweet tone she seemed to naturally bear. Her hair, like her mother’s was the color of wheat and gently curled, and Runa was fairly certain she had started wearing makeup like the grown women of the town sometimes did. Her lips seemed darker now, and her eyes outlined for art.
Runa had agreed to pick through the young girl’s trunk of linen gowns and help her choose the proper look, and for most of the morning she had sprawled on Gisillia’s bed while her friend repeatedly changed and paraded through the room in new sweeping dresses. “Oooh,” Runa hummed, perking up a little upon seeing the yellow affair Gisillia was twirling about in now. “I love that one,” the young girl offered.
Gisillia’s face, though, immediately scrunched. “It’s too big,” she declared.
While perhaps not tight fitting, Runa would never have thought the dress too large. “No, it just looks comfortable. And that color is gorgeous!”
Gisillia immediately tugged on the linen that hanged over her bosom, noting the extra space with a disdainful grunt. “Father bought this one; you can tell. You probably wouldn’t understand, Runa.” Gisillia’s amber eyes came to fall on her, marking the shape of her gangly body as it was strewn over the covers. “You don’t have a shape to try and accent.”
Runa’s heart twinged, though her face remained even. “I think I am going to wear the green one I have,” she remarked.
“Of course you are,” Gisillia sighed. “You know, you’d be much prettier in blue. It would match your eyes.”
Runa shrugged faintly. “I don’t have a blue one.” She did not have as many dresses as Gisillia, that was certain. She had two: the one she wore to work and around the town, and the one she reserved for special occasions. She had a tunic and pants for when she was training heavy with her uncles down at the rings, though Runa knew such dress was not appropriate for a festival.
“If you didn’t have an obscene weapons collection, you could have more dresses,” Gisillia reminded pointedly. She sighed, looking down once more to the yellow dress. “Let me try the red one.” Once again, the girl went back to her trunk and drew out the red dress, and disappeared back out the door to the spare room to change once more.
Runa sighed, hauling herself from the mattress and swinging her legs over the side, peering upward to the window to spy the sun’s position in the sky. It was almost time for the trainees at the ring to be dismissed for lunch, and Hildred had asked if Runa would take Bear and Ceolmund the meals she had prepared for them since it was her day off. The girl had not even hesitated to agree, though she mused she had thought it would be no great endeavor to pick a dress for an upcoming festival. “Gisli?” She called.
“Ugh, are you about to tell me you’re leaving?” Her friend’s muffled voice called back.
“I can see this last dress,” Runa offered. “I can come back and help finish once I drop off my brother’s lunch at the training grounds.”
There was a moment of silence and the girl came back, wearing now the red linen gown, though the cut was unlike anything Runa had seen. The cloth was certainly expensive; to get that shade of bright red it had to have been dyed just right. It was the neckline, though, which was so startling. It cut a bit lower than Runa had ever seen upon someone her own age, and the girl floundered a moment, mouth falling agape.
“Well?” Gisillia prompted, stroking her hands down the side.
“It’s…it’s very pretty, but…” Runa started, but her friend was already rolling her eyes impatiently.
“But what? Gods, Runa,” the girl clucked.
“Well, isn’t it a little low cut?” Runa inquired.
“You only think so because you have nothing to show off,” Gisillia countered. “Hm. I think this is the one. All right, go on and deliver the lunch.” The girl merely waved her hand in dismissal, and Runa leapt to her feet and began to move for the door.
Runa paused in the doorway. “If you wear that one, and I am in green, we’ll make the midsummer festival look like Yule!” She giggled before bidding farewell to her friend and to Solweig who was cleaning in the kitchen, and leaping out the front door. With only a quick stop to gather the lunch bags, Runa was off to the training grounds.
--
The recruits were training in spars when she walked up, and it took little time to recognize the tall form of Ceolmund there in the center against someone who was wider set than he, but much smaller. Runa leaned against the fence, tucking a strand from her braid over her ear, as she rested her chin upon her hands.
She had worked with him to get his elbow eased back into use after its dislocation, and the way he was moving in fluid motions seemed to imply she had done so well enough. He was carting his shield with little effort, and the blade was dancing effortlessly.
Maybe she should look into working with the injured trainees. Ceolmund had been the first to suggest it, and perhaps she had not taken such a statement seriously at first. Now, though, Runa could see the calling and the need. Ceolmund might have strained his muscles and injured himself again if she had not run him through some easy paces, building him back up steadily as if ascending stairs.
Beorhtric was there as well, watching the fight with a keen, calculating eye. She knew her brother was not the best with a sword. He did try, she knew, though he was not often one to practice the technique away from the ring. However, even he had improved since his start with the Eored the previous month, and Runa was quite proud of him, no matter his shortcomings.
He looked famished, and perhaps a little mussed. She wondered if he had lost his spar with how rumpled his tunics appeared. Runa knew better than to ask, though.
With a sigh she turned her eyes back to watch Ceolmund. “He’s leaving his guard open,” the girl murmured as if Ceolmund would be able to hear her. “Press it, and you’ve got him.”
Runa had agreed to pick through the young girl’s trunk of linen gowns and help her choose the proper look, and for most of the morning she had sprawled on Gisillia’s bed while her friend repeatedly changed and paraded through the room in new sweeping dresses. “Oooh,” Runa hummed, perking up a little upon seeing the yellow affair Gisillia was twirling about in now. “I love that one,” the young girl offered.
Gisillia’s face, though, immediately scrunched. “It’s too big,” she declared.
While perhaps not tight fitting, Runa would never have thought the dress too large. “No, it just looks comfortable. And that color is gorgeous!”
Gisillia immediately tugged on the linen that hanged over her bosom, noting the extra space with a disdainful grunt. “Father bought this one; you can tell. You probably wouldn’t understand, Runa.” Gisillia’s amber eyes came to fall on her, marking the shape of her gangly body as it was strewn over the covers. “You don’t have a shape to try and accent.”
Runa’s heart twinged, though her face remained even. “I think I am going to wear the green one I have,” she remarked.
“Of course you are,” Gisillia sighed. “You know, you’d be much prettier in blue. It would match your eyes.”
Runa shrugged faintly. “I don’t have a blue one.” She did not have as many dresses as Gisillia, that was certain. She had two: the one she wore to work and around the town, and the one she reserved for special occasions. She had a tunic and pants for when she was training heavy with her uncles down at the rings, though Runa knew such dress was not appropriate for a festival.
“If you didn’t have an obscene weapons collection, you could have more dresses,” Gisillia reminded pointedly. She sighed, looking down once more to the yellow dress. “Let me try the red one.” Once again, the girl went back to her trunk and drew out the red dress, and disappeared back out the door to the spare room to change once more.
Runa sighed, hauling herself from the mattress and swinging her legs over the side, peering upward to the window to spy the sun’s position in the sky. It was almost time for the trainees at the ring to be dismissed for lunch, and Hildred had asked if Runa would take Bear and Ceolmund the meals she had prepared for them since it was her day off. The girl had not even hesitated to agree, though she mused she had thought it would be no great endeavor to pick a dress for an upcoming festival. “Gisli?” She called.
“Ugh, are you about to tell me you’re leaving?” Her friend’s muffled voice called back.
“I can see this last dress,” Runa offered. “I can come back and help finish once I drop off my brother’s lunch at the training grounds.”
There was a moment of silence and the girl came back, wearing now the red linen gown, though the cut was unlike anything Runa had seen. The cloth was certainly expensive; to get that shade of bright red it had to have been dyed just right. It was the neckline, though, which was so startling. It cut a bit lower than Runa had ever seen upon someone her own age, and the girl floundered a moment, mouth falling agape.
“Well?” Gisillia prompted, stroking her hands down the side.
“It’s…it’s very pretty, but…” Runa started, but her friend was already rolling her eyes impatiently.
“But what? Gods, Runa,” the girl clucked.
“Well, isn’t it a little low cut?” Runa inquired.
“You only think so because you have nothing to show off,” Gisillia countered. “Hm. I think this is the one. All right, go on and deliver the lunch.” The girl merely waved her hand in dismissal, and Runa leapt to her feet and began to move for the door.
Runa paused in the doorway. “If you wear that one, and I am in green, we’ll make the midsummer festival look like Yule!” She giggled before bidding farewell to her friend and to Solweig who was cleaning in the kitchen, and leaping out the front door. With only a quick stop to gather the lunch bags, Runa was off to the training grounds.
--
The recruits were training in spars when she walked up, and it took little time to recognize the tall form of Ceolmund there in the center against someone who was wider set than he, but much smaller. Runa leaned against the fence, tucking a strand from her braid over her ear, as she rested her chin upon her hands.
She had worked with him to get his elbow eased back into use after its dislocation, and the way he was moving in fluid motions seemed to imply she had done so well enough. He was carting his shield with little effort, and the blade was dancing effortlessly.
Maybe she should look into working with the injured trainees. Ceolmund had been the first to suggest it, and perhaps she had not taken such a statement seriously at first. Now, though, Runa could see the calling and the need. Ceolmund might have strained his muscles and injured himself again if she had not run him through some easy paces, building him back up steadily as if ascending stairs.
Beorhtric was there as well, watching the fight with a keen, calculating eye. She knew her brother was not the best with a sword. He did try, she knew, though he was not often one to practice the technique away from the ring. However, even he had improved since his start with the Eored the previous month, and Runa was quite proud of him, no matter his shortcomings.
He looked famished, and perhaps a little mussed. She wondered if he had lost his spar with how rumpled his tunics appeared. Runa knew better than to ask, though.
With a sigh she turned her eyes back to watch Ceolmund. “He’s leaving his guard open,” the girl murmured as if Ceolmund would be able to hear her. “Press it, and you’ve got him.”