Beastmother

Hildegund rode slightly in the lead, eyes on her hounds as well as the trees and ground, not letting any single sight occupy her attention for too long unless it seemed to warrant a real look. Marnewyn followed along, watching similarly, though more so at trees and ground since she was not used to trying to figure out the hounds.

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.

The tiny bed in Heriwulf's tiny room was actually full to and beyond its limits, but felt, somehow, empty. Three hounds, any of which could stretch to fill the whole bed, shared it with him. Brunan, the matriarch of the pack, now getting a bit of grey in her dark fur; Hundr, the youngest (at least until Brunan's last litter) and most playful of the pack; and Niht, the implacable and tireless husky. Most nights, one of the three might sleep at the foot of the bed, while the others stayed outside, with the pups, or helping to patrol the stockade; they never shared the bed.

Based off of the RPed Woodmen Clan Moot, 16 February. Observations and introspections from Arastal's point of view.

“Boar-Cleaver!”

Rogmund pushed himself off his chair and lumbered down to the lodge kitchen. Like the other Woodmen, he had a title which was frequently used to address him and typically the sole name given to outsiders. These nicknames could be derived from a variety of sources- a unique physical trait, a well-known deed, or a great skill. His title, Boar-Cleaver, denoted his trade as a butcher.

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.

Heriwulf is using the hand-cart to bring archery targets and hay bales out into a clear space within the stockade, and setting up the targets atop the hay bales.
Jessandra breaks off the sizing up she's been doing with Marney and wanders over. "Need help with that? Or would it be too much bother to tell someone else how?"
Heriwulf | Hundr runs up to Jessandra as soon as she approaches and gives her a cheerful yip. Brenn and Dalgo, on patrol around the stockade (but mostly staying near the entrance) don't seem much interested in her.

The two Dwarves stared at the huge hole in the ceiling of the inn.

“Why would Fralin stop here?” the younger brother, Nogi, asked.

“It’s still some ways to Bree,” answered the elder, Bogi.

“I don’t like the look of that roof,” Nogi commented. “That’ll fall down and crush everybody here someday, mark my words.”