Goat Ewe (January 3010) - [Ceolmund]
Oct 19, 2017 15:24:25 GMT -5
Post by Runa on Oct 19, 2017 15:24:25 GMT -5
In the cold wind, Runa tromped down the edge of the hill, blue eyes intently set on the larger chests that were down, broken and shattered against the boulders. Her limbs felt like ice already, and her wind whipped hair splayed wildly about her cheeks as she went. Her armor and weapons were scattered about at the very base of the slope, soaking in the moisture in the air and dirt. It was like she could hear the rust forming. She could see her cleaning oils and her cleaning cloths amongst their wreckage as well, though given that they were also now soaked through they were going to be little help in cleaning her blades and mail to keep them strong.
Maybe Ceolmund had some with his gear that his mother had spared. She already lost two of her pieces—the axe head was probably salvageable, though the thing would need a new haft. And her first knife—the dull one that her father had given her when she was small. The antler handle had not survived the fire very well, and the heat had cracked it down the middle.
It was irreplaceable. Like that doll.
She scowled, favoring the frown over flowing tears.
Her footing slipped, and she fell and shrieked, sliding and tumbling a fair way down the hill before catching herself. At least she had avoided breaking herself on the boulders along with her things, but her hip and arm were throbbing. She could feel the cold fingers of the mud dripping down her skin, and through her braids. “Confound it, Elin,” she grumbled. She stood, her tan linen dress almost completely caked now in mud. Carefully, she finished her way down and began to gather her heavy items to bring it back to the top of the slope. Her mail, sword, and shield carried in her arms, the woman turned and began to ascend once more.
--
“I’m back,” Inga called as she skittered inside, almost tripping on Ceolmund as he was bent working. “Oh! I’m sorry, my lord,” she mumbled before lightly stepping by him and presenting Hildred with a new basket of healing herbs and supplies from the Hall. It looked identical to the one Runa had brought home on the eve of the wedding, only this one had extras of everything, including two large bottles of brennevin.
“Ah, Oda must have heard what happened,” Hildred hummed as she eyed the bottles knowingly, and took the basket in hand to bring it to the table.
“And Adelais,” Inga added, motioning to the second bottle of brennevin. “They said if we need more herbs, they will gladly give them.”
“This should be good enough,” Hildred hummed. She looked for a moment to Ceol, stooped and working with the mallet and pegs. “Ceolmund,” she said gently. “Will you please let me look at your knee? I obviously can’t force you—but I would like to make sure you haven’t pulled your stitches.” She set aside some bandages and cleaning alcohol, glancing to the back door to see if she could grab her daughter and at least take care of cleaning and binding her hand.
Maybe Ceolmund had some with his gear that his mother had spared. She already lost two of her pieces—the axe head was probably salvageable, though the thing would need a new haft. And her first knife—the dull one that her father had given her when she was small. The antler handle had not survived the fire very well, and the heat had cracked it down the middle.
It was irreplaceable. Like that doll.
She scowled, favoring the frown over flowing tears.
Her footing slipped, and she fell and shrieked, sliding and tumbling a fair way down the hill before catching herself. At least she had avoided breaking herself on the boulders along with her things, but her hip and arm were throbbing. She could feel the cold fingers of the mud dripping down her skin, and through her braids. “Confound it, Elin,” she grumbled. She stood, her tan linen dress almost completely caked now in mud. Carefully, she finished her way down and began to gather her heavy items to bring it back to the top of the slope. Her mail, sword, and shield carried in her arms, the woman turned and began to ascend once more.
--
“I’m back,” Inga called as she skittered inside, almost tripping on Ceolmund as he was bent working. “Oh! I’m sorry, my lord,” she mumbled before lightly stepping by him and presenting Hildred with a new basket of healing herbs and supplies from the Hall. It looked identical to the one Runa had brought home on the eve of the wedding, only this one had extras of everything, including two large bottles of brennevin.
“Ah, Oda must have heard what happened,” Hildred hummed as she eyed the bottles knowingly, and took the basket in hand to bring it to the table.
“And Adelais,” Inga added, motioning to the second bottle of brennevin. “They said if we need more herbs, they will gladly give them.”
“This should be good enough,” Hildred hummed. She looked for a moment to Ceol, stooped and working with the mallet and pegs. “Ceolmund,” she said gently. “Will you please let me look at your knee? I obviously can’t force you—but I would like to make sure you haven’t pulled your stitches.” She set aside some bandages and cleaning alcohol, glancing to the back door to see if she could grab her daughter and at least take care of cleaning and binding her hand.