Deansfolk

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The fires burned bright, the drink flowed freely and shadows leapt to the rapid beat of the drum: the Ox-clan knew how to throw a harvest feast. Lheuwen sat by one of the larger fires, pleasantly full and a little tipsy; her grandfather, Cunvawr, and his family close by.

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♦

It was some weeks since Lheuwen had seen her grandfather. He looked – if it were possible – somehow younger. His weeks in Breeland had put some colour back into his cheeks and a twinkle in his eyes after the long haggard road he must have taken to travel up from Dunland; his beard was washed and combed, his travelling clothes clean.

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4 March, TA 3019. The early hours of the morning.

Underground. Helm's Deep.

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