Gelvira

The day had been taken by the obsidian sheet of night, and the woods that protected Gelvira’s hut, grew quiet of the birds chirping as the creatures of night patrolled instead. She found herself being here less, as she took frequent trips to visit her love, at her new home, situated in a small hamlet on the outskirts of Bree.

((Taken from Role-Play))

At spear training, Heriwulf had talked about the deep, steady breathing that helps a warrior maintain both the body and the mind. How you breathe is one of the easiest things to learn, and the hardest things to keep up in the heat of the moment, and most important things that made a good warrior a great one, though no one knew it. You need both air and calm to survive the challenges; and steady, deep breaths, in through the nose and out through the mouth, give both.

In the space of a single sennight, everything in Heriwulf's life had been turned upside down. They were all good changes, but they were exhausting, too, full of risks and challenges, demands and urgency, and the promise of things ending much better, soon. Or becoming the source of yet more regrets to hang about his neck.

Time had passed, giving Gelvira the opportunity to both calm down and sober up, yet her judgement still remained clouded. That is because she decided to leave Faron's hut and venture back toward the Lodge, but she was far from willing to make amends with Ljota.

((Role-Play that has been logged from the 7th February 2020))

Ljota meanders out of the back and pauses in the main hall.

There was no question in Heriwulf's mind anymore. He should never have let Faron make him promise to offer himself as chieftain. Or he should never have accepted the position. Now he wondered, though, was it really about that position, farcical as it was, or was it just him?