Aelfrida

After a few weeks of being the nominal Chieftain of his tiny clan, Heriwulf still hadn't had a moment when the weight of that position fell upon him suddenly, startlingly, uncomfortably. On the contrary, he'd settled into that position quite easily, because it had really had very little effect on anything.

After the moot, and after her little bit of extra chat with Ljota that followed, Hildegund made her way back to her hut. She mulled over some things as she limped along, not hiding it so much now that there was no one to see.

She wished that Home-Wright's joke about bride-price hadn't happened, or that it hadn't hit her so hard. It was still hard for her to think around the memories it had brought up. But nobody knew, and it wasn't anything but a jest. It had kept her from being able to say or ask some things with Snow-Hair and Ljota, but there would likely be other opportunities for those. And perhaps her thoughts hadn't really mattered, anyway. That seemed likely.

It wasn't just the mead that had Heriwulf's head feeling a little too heavy, like his neck couldn't quite keep it up.

Even before Radagast's question had been read out, slowly and carefully by Hildegund at the clan moot a few days earlier, Heriwulf had spent a lot of his time thinking about what he could contribute to the small clan. (What should he even call it? It wasn't a clan, but it wasn't like anything but a very small clan. Without a chieftain.

A glance to her side as she thought she heard the start of a complaint from her hound, and the walker saw that, indeed, his hackles were raising. Then, she also started to hear the padding of the paws behind them. Why are the wolves…? Oh no! I forgot about the birds! Fresh-kill scent, and moving! Not that her thoughts were quite that ordered and verbal, but such was their meaning. She whirled as she heard one settle in to spring, and met it with her spear, cursing herself inwardly for her carelessness.

The folk of Bree-land rarely visit the Chetwood that much, and most of those who do, like the hunters and trappers that Hildegund meets during her wanderings and scouting journeys, don't pay much attention to the small lodge that the Woodmen had built. It was easy for Heriwulf to think that it was somehow hidden, but of course, it was in plain sight to anyone who happened to cross the woods from the west, or the marshes from the south, or the hills from the northeast.

Judging by the angle of the fading light, Hildegund was sure she was a bit early for the moot that had been called, but being late was unthinkable. She made her way up the hill to where they'd built the clan-lodge, watching her hound. He'd caught some squirrels not much earlier, and seemed like perhaps he wanted to nap. When she got almost to the building, she pointed to a likely spot in the leaves. "Stay, Fang. Wait." Needing no further encouragement, he sniffed at the place, turned around a few times, and laid down for a nap as the woman walked on.