Eaworth

They gathered outside of Cliving, near the path to Wildermore and the watchtower closest to Eaworth. Two groups of men, standing about chatting idly in the warm morning light. The larger group of the two sported the image of a planty green helm crowned with a horse’s head on the white background of their shields. The smaller group had a red harp on a yellow background on their shields. Both seemed nervous and alert, awaiting their orders.

The two Reeves stood opposite each other, in the currently empty Mead Hall of Cliving. There was a slight air of challenge between them, both being proud men. They stood tall, saying nothing, watching each other in the dimly lit room. Reeve Ingbert folded his large weathered hands together behind back. Reeve Athelward crossed one arm over the other, covered in the rich fabric of his tunic. Ingbert frowned, the wrinkles on his old skin deepening.

Death!

Gæded's heart raced as she stood before the closed gate. It was coming. These men, these soldiers, would fight for their home. So would she.

Death!

She felt slightly afraid, but she did not let it show. She was one of the eorlingas. She had to be brave.

Death!

She looked around her, at the men. Their golden hair glinted in the sunlight and their eyes sparkled with fear, excitement and determination. She felt those feelings too - she was not alone.

Death!

It was like the moments before the start of an upcoming fight, Gæded thought. The tension, the waiting, the feeling of holding your breath until the moment comes – it was all the same, though Gæded didn’t initially think that waiting for the Huntsmaster  to wake up would feel like this.

 A somewhat strong, but chilly, gust of wind blew straight into his face, messing his hair and making him turn his head to the side, to avoid it passing by his ears. It always irritated Grimhaleth, the cold wind in his ears. It was late in the morning and he was walking for the most of it, the long plains of Rohan seem even longer if one tries to walk them.