The Wyld Hunt

The sky was turning mauve, the molten lava of the sun disk radiated directly ahead of Fredericka. She could not decide whether she liked it or not: the sunset above the hills of North Downs warmed up the heart with its majesty, yet the sun was blinding, and with Fornost ahead, she felt like she could use her vision better. She feared what number and sort of creatures can come out of Fornost. Are they too powerful and overwhelming? Tomorrow would show, but for tonight, they were still camping out in the wilderness.

/an excerpt from 'The Ultimate Guide to Potatoes, Volume I/

Chapter 2: Varieties 

The man poured himself another cup of uisge beatha and cursed quietly under his breath.

When he agreed on taking more responsibilities, he instantly knew there would be problems. That was a given. On one hand, he was ready for that. The rough life he led made him tough. Tough and stubborn. Quite probably, that was the main reason he did not tie up and gag the wildling girl, when Shemkel assigned him to protect her.

The night was cold, barely lit by a thin crescent of the moon and the few stars that managed to shine through the dense clouds above. Barely any could have been heard. The nature laid silent, aware of unnatural powers gathering nearby. Stones and trees, ground and grass, everything was shrouded in thickening mists. An hour or two more, that was all that was needed for the sun to come up. Still, that was enough to keep the lands in darkness.

Esteldin felt almost empty, with the Dunedains and their allies gathered, preparing for a journey further South. Yes, Grey Company was needed elsewhere, but the North was far from being safe. Many of the Rangers knew that and they left their beloved lands with a heavy heart.

The Wyld Hunt was always there and their allies could always count on the Wolves help, but the Pack was far from numerous. Spread around Eriador and beyond, the Hunt overextended and needed new eyes and teeth themselves.

The wood cracked in the campfire sending sparks into the sky. It was a cold night, but the warmth from fire allowed for a comfortable evening. It was a perfect night for story-telling, and Lilu spun her tale, revealing one more of the Dunlending legends from the treasury of her folklore.