Morning light spilled across the browning fields of Gwinholm, its settlement pocked with the many shadows of laborers toiling to symphony of cockcall and birdsong. Isander worked among them, nails cracked and pores deep with dirt. Having arrived the evening prior with his companion and a wagon laden with supplies, he allowed for a longer detour than initially planned. In good conscience, he could not leave these people to rebuild alone.
A hard harvest drove the settlers to listlessness. Fires from a season past ravaged the town proper, and a lack of skilled foresters delayed the restoration. Coupled with the odd party of rogues down from the foot of the Spine and disease that spread ravenous through the livestock, the settlement had reached a breaking point. Several farmsteads lay abandoned on its outskirts, houses emptied of all that could be carried off. Broken tools and straps littered the fields. A sorry sight for what once stood proud in the shadow of the Spine.
Sweat beaded on Isander's brow as he drove another picket into the dirt. Unglamorous work, necessary all the same. Dusty linens clung to him with each breath of autumnal air, prompting welcome shivers that served to recenter his attention. Absent his spear and armor, he found it easy to lose himself in the labor. It required some care to ensure he placed the stakes in proper alignment. Even a slight stray could render hours of wasted. Still, the cyclical nature of it, the quiet repetition made for pleasant company. It gave him time to breathe, to dwell on simpler times.
Patting down his forehead, he heaved a sigh and turned to his companion.
"Saskia," he said, "let's break fast for the morning. The fence can wait awhile longer. I could use a drink."
Saskia Kerraelas
A hard harvest drove the settlers to listlessness. Fires from a season past ravaged the town proper, and a lack of skilled foresters delayed the restoration. Coupled with the odd party of rogues down from the foot of the Spine and disease that spread ravenous through the livestock, the settlement had reached a breaking point. Several farmsteads lay abandoned on its outskirts, houses emptied of all that could be carried off. Broken tools and straps littered the fields. A sorry sight for what once stood proud in the shadow of the Spine.
Sweat beaded on Isander's brow as he drove another picket into the dirt. Unglamorous work, necessary all the same. Dusty linens clung to him with each breath of autumnal air, prompting welcome shivers that served to recenter his attention. Absent his spear and armor, he found it easy to lose himself in the labor. It required some care to ensure he placed the stakes in proper alignment. Even a slight stray could render hours of wasted. Still, the cyclical nature of it, the quiet repetition made for pleasant company. It gave him time to breathe, to dwell on simpler times.
Patting down his forehead, he heaved a sigh and turned to his companion.
"Saskia," he said, "let's break fast for the morning. The fence can wait awhile longer. I could use a drink."
Saskia Kerraelas
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