Eastfold

The dog barked shortly, as he ran out and gave himself away from the bushes. Theogorn hobbled from the woods into the glade, surrounded by his bellowing sheep through his humming melodies. He paused for a moment, leaning on a shepherd’s stick to grasp a little breath from his recent climb on the hill. It was a bright and cloudless morning, with a warm wind of the sorts that moves flickering spots on the turf and foretells a midsummer thunderstorm after squeezing air.

All stories have a beginning and this is such a begin. If you are to know more about Theogorn, you have to look no further, for this is his first chapter. Many ages have past and many deeds are done: These by the great lords of the Undying lands and the mighty elves of the first age, as well the high men of westernesse. But the lesser heroes are forgotten: yes, I said lesser heroes indeed. Those whoms deeds are too small to be remembered, but too great to be forgotten.

There was a breath of fear amidst the four Eorlings. Two women, and two men; both men stood with their swords unsheathed, along with one of the women. The fourth was not one for fighting, but rather she was a gentle soul, a healer named Elfwyn; why she had come along with them was a queer mystery that was wrought in Ceorlgar's mind. He was one of the warriors, and there was sweat on his brow - he had never experienced such fear before, but beside him stood one who kept him hopeful in dark hours; she was Melowen, a shieldmaiden with a long sword and a fury unmatched by most.