Yllfa

It was a softly lowered sky that rained feather-light droplets upon the village that morning. The mist was not cold, for spring had arrived in earnest, and the rich, brown earth drank deeply of the refreshment, pushing forth in turn its tender, verdant shoots in places where heel and cart did not intrude. The world was taking on its new mantle of brighter daylight, even under an overcast sky.

Ethel came to me earlier today when I had sat down by the fire for a few moments. She was carrying with her a leather bound book that contained many pages. 

I brush away the heavy lock of hair that has fallen across the sleeping boy’s face. He blows against my touch, but does not wake. Thick, straw blonde hair it is, so typical of many of our folk. His eyes are greenish, and his nose seems overly large. He is young, no more than a year or so older than Ethel, I suspect. But then often girls take on the appearance of women at a younger age than boys take on the look of men?

Heartha had already scouted out the area agreed upon, when the others arrived. She had found very few signs of boar, even there. The hilly woodlands to the east of Bancross were usually teeming with wild boar. Why was there such a shortage this year? The hunting party may yet have to rely on the results of fishing, or possibly a moose or two, to fill the mouths of their folk, she mused.