Shadow of the Mountain Pass (January 3010) - [Open]
May 17, 2018 9:46:28 GMT -5
Post by Heard on May 17, 2018 9:46:28 GMT -5
The girl accepted the invitation, which Heard had been expecting. There always seemed to be one thing all travellers had in common, and it was the need for sustenance by the time they reached their village there, in the shadow of the mountains and the Carrock.
"I've never met a Beorning before now. I've heard people speak of the Beorning's. What they said didn't do your people justice. At least Shadow is less nervous than he was when we encountered Gwalhir".
A long growl emanated from the back of Heard’s throat as he opened the door to his modest home. He turned, eyes hard and face hanging in an expression somewhere between a grimace and scowl. “I’m not a Beorning,” he said simply, voice low.
He would not call himself one; he refused to use the name of his father to describe what he was. Heard was nothing like his father, perhaps the only part of life Heard and Beorn had managed to agree on. He held Astrid’s eye for a minute before looking now to Shadow. The creature’s eyes seemed to brighten, and Heard stepped inside.
The house was larger than it appeared to have been from front view alone; a long table held in the middle of the main room, only four chairs about its perimeter. Beeswax candles burned upon the surface in iron holders, set and lit merely moments ago.
There was hay upon the ground in the far corner contained in an alcove that may well have been a stable to an eye familiar with horses. Bees buzzed about, and birds hopped through beams that held up the roof. Renweard was carrying out a tray, using his forepaws as hands, to set it upon the table.
Dried fruits and fresh breads were arrayed on the platter, a small bowl of honey beside, and a glass of milk mead; a pleasant looking array, Heard noted himself. No meat, no eggs; just plants, and things made of plants. “You eat,” he told Astrid gruffly. “I’ll get some hay and honey for you,” he added, looking now to Shadow. He motioned to the small alcove of hay and trough, and moved to open a small bale to set inside for the horse to partake in.
“Here you are, Master,” Renweard offered, placing down now a larger array of similar dishes to Astrid’s upon the other side of the table. The giant grunted a form of thanks and took up a slice of bread to bite into, the crumbs raining into his beard.
“Hope you like honey,” he said to her.
"I've never met a Beorning before now. I've heard people speak of the Beorning's. What they said didn't do your people justice. At least Shadow is less nervous than he was when we encountered Gwalhir".
A long growl emanated from the back of Heard’s throat as he opened the door to his modest home. He turned, eyes hard and face hanging in an expression somewhere between a grimace and scowl. “I’m not a Beorning,” he said simply, voice low.
He would not call himself one; he refused to use the name of his father to describe what he was. Heard was nothing like his father, perhaps the only part of life Heard and Beorn had managed to agree on. He held Astrid’s eye for a minute before looking now to Shadow. The creature’s eyes seemed to brighten, and Heard stepped inside.
The house was larger than it appeared to have been from front view alone; a long table held in the middle of the main room, only four chairs about its perimeter. Beeswax candles burned upon the surface in iron holders, set and lit merely moments ago.
There was hay upon the ground in the far corner contained in an alcove that may well have been a stable to an eye familiar with horses. Bees buzzed about, and birds hopped through beams that held up the roof. Renweard was carrying out a tray, using his forepaws as hands, to set it upon the table.
Dried fruits and fresh breads were arrayed on the platter, a small bowl of honey beside, and a glass of milk mead; a pleasant looking array, Heard noted himself. No meat, no eggs; just plants, and things made of plants. “You eat,” he told Astrid gruffly. “I’ll get some hay and honey for you,” he added, looking now to Shadow. He motioned to the small alcove of hay and trough, and moved to open a small bale to set inside for the horse to partake in.
“Here you are, Master,” Renweard offered, placing down now a larger array of similar dishes to Astrid’s upon the other side of the table. The giant grunted a form of thanks and took up a slice of bread to bite into, the crumbs raining into his beard.
“Hope you like honey,” he said to her.