The Eaves of Fangorn (February 3011) [Theodred]
Mar 6, 2018 15:28:05 GMT -5
Post by Ceolmund on Mar 6, 2018 15:28:05 GMT -5
The sky was deep grey cloud; the ground glistening with crackling frost. Those small blazes which had been made to heat the water and cook the stew for their suppers had been made only of what grasses and dried and decayed timber they had been able to find along the plains, and outside the forest.
The third watch of the night was upon them. Dawn was but a ways off. Two full companies of men gathered, most still sleeping though some now rousing for morning. No bonfires burned tonight for most of the men feared the eaves of the forest where they camped. It was said that there was a curse upon all who hewed logs from this wood. No man wished to take risk, as close as they were. The dark shadow of trees was ominous.
Those on watch were restless, shifting again and again in the cold night air, hands numb with cold, blowing against them to try and keep them thawed should they need take up sword and spear and make a call to arms for the men. It had been already three weeks since they had set out from Edoras, in pursuit of the largest group of orc Ceolmund had ever seen in one place. It was disconcerting, to know that the orc had come so far west. After the first group had been slain, the remainder had scattered, and the Captain's Eored, as well as those of the Marshal went in chase, cutting down what small bands they came upon by night, and tracking them during the day.
The Captain was awake already, readying his horse for the day. He would join the last watches. He had slept poorly for the cold and drear, thinking thoughts of home, grateful for he knew his own hearth was warm and his family would still be sleeping sound. At least, Paega would be sleeping sound. Runa may be up with Yomie. The boy never made it long through the night without his milk; but nonetheless, they were warm and safe within the city walls.
His house guests had promised him that his wife would not need worry about the wood while he was away this time. Nor food it seemed. Wyn had shown herself to be a fine trapper of small game and had made a truly helpful contribution to the household. Then there was... the elf.
Ceolmund knew he could make himself useful in many ways, and Adanedhel had promised to do so. Runa trusted him. Yet still, Ceolmund had reservations. There was nothing he could do of it for now. When he had set off on their errand he had not been so worried, though perhaps it was simply the superstitious and ominous forest before him that had led him back to questioning his trust.
Tait was now fed and ready, and Ceolmund mounted her, leading her slowly through the encampment and trying to keep the horse quiet for not to wake those who had actually taken to rest during the night. He had seen where Theodred had departed and followed him. The shadow of the trees on the edge of the camp, under the eaves of Fangorn.
“Theo,” Ceolmund stated quietly as he approached. They were not near enough for the others to hear. While they were working, Ceolmund always took to calling the Prince by his full title, for the respect that the King's son deserved... yet when they were just men alone, he called his friend by his short name. The name he had used for him since they were boys. Tait nickered, reaching over to nip at the leather rein in Theodred's hand, and Ceolmund pulled back on hers. “Tait,” he warned sharply. Though all the men had respect for Theodred, the Captain above all others; Tait had none.
The third watch of the night was upon them. Dawn was but a ways off. Two full companies of men gathered, most still sleeping though some now rousing for morning. No bonfires burned tonight for most of the men feared the eaves of the forest where they camped. It was said that there was a curse upon all who hewed logs from this wood. No man wished to take risk, as close as they were. The dark shadow of trees was ominous.
Those on watch were restless, shifting again and again in the cold night air, hands numb with cold, blowing against them to try and keep them thawed should they need take up sword and spear and make a call to arms for the men. It had been already three weeks since they had set out from Edoras, in pursuit of the largest group of orc Ceolmund had ever seen in one place. It was disconcerting, to know that the orc had come so far west. After the first group had been slain, the remainder had scattered, and the Captain's Eored, as well as those of the Marshal went in chase, cutting down what small bands they came upon by night, and tracking them during the day.
The Captain was awake already, readying his horse for the day. He would join the last watches. He had slept poorly for the cold and drear, thinking thoughts of home, grateful for he knew his own hearth was warm and his family would still be sleeping sound. At least, Paega would be sleeping sound. Runa may be up with Yomie. The boy never made it long through the night without his milk; but nonetheless, they were warm and safe within the city walls.
His house guests had promised him that his wife would not need worry about the wood while he was away this time. Nor food it seemed. Wyn had shown herself to be a fine trapper of small game and had made a truly helpful contribution to the household. Then there was... the elf.
Ceolmund knew he could make himself useful in many ways, and Adanedhel had promised to do so. Runa trusted him. Yet still, Ceolmund had reservations. There was nothing he could do of it for now. When he had set off on their errand he had not been so worried, though perhaps it was simply the superstitious and ominous forest before him that had led him back to questioning his trust.
Tait was now fed and ready, and Ceolmund mounted her, leading her slowly through the encampment and trying to keep the horse quiet for not to wake those who had actually taken to rest during the night. He had seen where Theodred had departed and followed him. The shadow of the trees on the edge of the camp, under the eaves of Fangorn.
“Theo,” Ceolmund stated quietly as he approached. They were not near enough for the others to hear. While they were working, Ceolmund always took to calling the Prince by his full title, for the respect that the King's son deserved... yet when they were just men alone, he called his friend by his short name. The name he had used for him since they were boys. Tait nickered, reaching over to nip at the leather rein in Theodred's hand, and Ceolmund pulled back on hers. “Tait,” he warned sharply. Though all the men had respect for Theodred, the Captain above all others; Tait had none.