The summer sun was setting over the hills, casting a warm glow over the hills of Dunland. The sky was a magnificent mess of colours. In a quiet corner of the wild land, a large hut stood in solitude. Fences surrounded a good portion of the land around it, and grazing inside were goats, sheep and some cattle, though there was also an odd addition. Horses. Whether they were sturdy little mountain ponies or great athletic hunters, all similar dark colours and shaggy coats. Hounds barked and ran around the yard, chasing each other and scrapping over bones and chunks of meat.
Inside the hut were many faces, all drinking and eating and talking amongst one another. Besides the roaring fire in the centre stood the most people. Sat down on a log-bench was Hyddwn, a proud protector of the Pristine Glade. His hair was dark and long, and even though he was dressed in shabby travelling furs, he looked proud and strong in the way he held his head. Next to him was his wife, Elanedd, a true beauty of the Dunlendings and with a smile that rarely left her lips. Sitting on her lap was their little daughter, Elain, who was laughing and playing with her fathers cloak.
Standing besides this family were two other men, chatting with them about this and that. The way they argued and teased each other soon made it clear that they were family. Bleiddwn, a scarred dark-haired man, the eldest of the three. It was said he was evil in heart, though the way he subtly smiled at his niece could have told another story. Next to him was Hychddwn, the shortest and roundest out of all the brothers even though he was the youngest. He was calmer, though he knew how to handle a club in a “peacekeeping” situation as he would call it.
“She is growing every time I see her!”, Hychddwn exclaimed as he doubled over to peer down at little Elain.
“Thank the Huntsman she isn’t growing outwards like you,” Bleiddwn commented.
“Hrmf. Do not frown, little one, or else you’ll end up wrinkly as this old wolf,” Hychddwn tickled his nieces chin and elbowed his eldest brother.
“Let us hope she doesn’t end up like him, I prefer a laughing child not a scowling one!”, Hyddwn exclaimed with a laugh to which he received his own elbow from his wife.
“Do not listen to them, Bleiddwn. She would be lucky if she were to inherit your fierceness.” Elanedd smiled up to her brother-in-law, to which Bleiddwn held his head a little higher.
“Yes, you are right, she would.”
Against the wall stood another group of four. Once again two brothers amongst them, though these were much older. Gwydion, a sturdy man with grey dominating his hair, and with signs of wrinkles on his face. He was the father of Bleiddwn, Hyddwn and Hychddwn. Next to him was his brother, with fierce red hair with some streaks of white running throughout. He was dressed in better clothing, though a thick fur cloak sat around his shoulders. This was Gwythyr, who went to live in the Horse-Lands after exile from his old clan. Standing with him was his son, a Half Blood though he looked closer to a Wildman than a Horse-Lord. His hair was red and long, and his eyes brown. His skin was tanned, though not to the same extent as the others. He was also taller, by a fair few inches. His name was Langhund, though he was simply called Helgwn, which means Hound in the native tongue. Even though he was raised in the Mark, he spoke near to fluent Dunael. It was his first time meeting this family of his, and he was talking to one of his cousins.
This cousin was Cadfardd, one of the bards of the land, whose voice is said to greatly resemble their great grandfather, Meillionydd, one of the greatest bards in all of Dunland in his time.
“So how is your Horse, Gwythyr?”, Gwydion asked, a smile playing on his lips.
“My horse? He is well, though tired from a long journey here.” he replied.
“I mean your wife! The Forgoil wench who snatched you up, you should be here, and your son. Both wedded to a fine Clanswoman. There are plenty to choose from, I tell you.”
“Bah! She is no horse! Though she is a Forgoil, she is kind. I have no desire to leave the land where the mead runs stronger. Though my son… perhaps some time here will do him well.” Gwythyr grizzled out as he run a hand over his wild beard.
“There is room for him if he wants it.” Gwydion mumbled.
“Hrm. Where is Cadwgan? He is usually here.”
“He is out. On the warpath. It has been a long time since he last went by the name of Cadwgan, brother, though his sister and her child are here..”, Gwydion looked around, and pointed to where the women were grouped.
Over where the meat was hanging from ropes stood most of the women folk, save Elanedd. There was Goewin, wife of Gwydion, kneading some dough with her hands while she chatted with the rest. There was Glesni, mother of Cadfardd, who was preparing more meat to be cooked over the fire. And lastly there was Rhoswen, sister to Cadwgan, and her toddler, Blodyn, prancing about with a cat.
“Have you heard recently from Pren, Rhoswen?”, Glesni asked.
“The last time I saw my brother was when this one was still suckling, though I hope he does well.”, she replied, patting her daughter on the head as she wobbled past.
“Well, last I heard, he was in Wulf’s Cleft gathering the troops, though that was some time ago now. He shall be fine, he is a mighty warrior, and he leads mighty men! He shall be back soon, I am sure of it.” Goewin added, with a warm smile on her lips.
The night carried on, the children fell asleep yet the talking continued, and they all joined together around the fire, drinking in good health to their ancestors long passed, on this day of remembering them.
