Soft winds, cool and carrying the fragrance of wild flowers from the forests of Leirhofn, caressed her cheek as she rode. Another tiny settlement, where several even smaller tribes gathered to bicker between each other each winter, a glorified granary and common deposit most of the time. Always in need for a First One to come and order the mortals around, to shake them from their eternal torpor, onto productive matters.
Not long ago she was also directing mortals, some to battle as she led by example, some to death as she wielded her ornate bardiche from atop her war horse. From the Ardaling plains, blessed with breezes that ranged from scorching to icy depending on the time of day and season and brought gentle whispers about death, to the accursed western forests, where the silence was as ominous as it was dreadful.
And here, so far removed, she now had a little vision. Subtle, not a rare occurrence in the woods to see an owl sinking its talons on small prey, its powerful beak slicing the thread of life swiftly and powerfully as the little creature let out a chilling shriek. Still, meaningful if one had the eye for it.
She merely took note and kept riding, doing her duties as the proper daughter she was, one who is willing to put through the tediousness of this kind of labor for she wishes to inherit, eventually. And soon enough there it was, the rider that brought the letter, transcribed from a lendan stone, penned by her father's scribe. The summons.
So little time had passed and the Ardaling Tribes were already fighting another war, their pact with the Sun-Seekers seeming to have lasted not a whole Sun-cycle. Thus, she had to rush to Valenshallen where a host was being assembled, once more to ride the waves in the company of those who flirted with the after-life, whose trade was weighted in steel. At least she would be able to visit again the exotic markets of Hunter’s Hold, she thought, and hopefully not have to step again in the darkest of forests, where hunters stalked without noise and prey died quietly.