@winter-sword
Inside the knight's hall it was deceptively quiet. Outdoors, it was raining heavily enough that the torrent sounded like a battalion on the march. It was a good thing Ashe had a pile of bows to restring, because he didn't fancy stepping outside any time soon—even if only to make a dash for the main hall.
There was a chance he was being unfair. The climate might’ve been the goddess’s way of showing pity for the monastery’s inhabitants, as they prepared for another clash that would cost them time, men, morale. He only hoped it wouldn’t still be raining by then.
Not for the first time, he found himself wondering if Gwenn was thinking the same thing. Or maybe Gwenn had fought in far worse conditions, and to her this was just a drizzle. By now Ashe had learnt to suppress the urge to actually ask about the chivalrous exploits of the knights around camp, but no matter how many years passed, he didn't think he'd tire of wondering about them.
His greeting in the end was a restrained nod. “It would be a great time to be a duck, wouldn’t it?” As he set the next bow on the table, he mustered a smile. “It almost makes me feel homesick. You’d expect this kind of weather in Faerghus.”












