It's a long hike across the Entwash and a lot of open ground to cover, so I decided to see about a horse.
As luck would have it, this chap Dudsig had a horse needed back to Harwick where they do a lot o' the training for these Mearas they calls 'em, so I'd have to ride a bit more than I'd wanted, but it'd get me well on my way to the Great River. Glad I did, there were a few gobbies prowlin' about in the long grass.
As expected, the mead hall in Stoke were warm and toasty, and the grub was second-to-none. And I met the Reeve, Fríthild, a shield-maiden no less!
She were organising some folks to put out the wild fires nearby. She asked me to go by Oserley to see if I could get a few more hands to help, so I agreed I'd pass by. 'Twere a lonely walk, nary a soul, just the tall grass swaying and the birds singing. Weather were dry, at least.
Walking south I was reminded how treeless this part of the world is, just open land for miles, and the occasional horse cloppin' about.
Looked like someone had a rough time of it with a few cottages caught afire, but it was mostly out by the time I got there.
The wind in these parts can whip up a spark and catch the grasses, next thing you know the whole field's in flame.
I left The Mud and walked through Woodsbury proper, it were rainin', o' course...
Soggy hike to Torsbury and I did not like the look o' the folks camped out there, so I strolls through like I owns the place and kept going to Stoke.
Wish I'd headed that way in the first place, better grub in Stoke. They got a proper mead hall there, big fire in the middle an' all.
Brenin Crus