There was an unsettling hush along the forest road. The flowers were in bloom and the leaves on the trees were still green, yet the quiet was one that belonged to winter. It was early morning, yet the songbirds did not sing but for a few moments, and though morning dew dangled from the spider webs, there was a certain bleakness in the air.

It could have just been in her mind, Ayla admitted. It could also be that the rumors of evil lurking in the woods around Temrin were true. It didn't really matter. Her hand stayed near her battleaxe all the same.

Five days had passed since Ayla had left Isolde at Aefric's Place. The old man, a former Mordane rebel like herself, had promised to take good care of the girl. He'd mentioned that some sort of warrior's lodge, the Silver Dagger, was being rebuilt in Temrin; a good place, he'd suggested, for a battle-hardened woman to have a chance to feel the rush of battle once again. Better to join them than face off against whatever evils await her alone, he'd said.

[i]Well,[/i] she thought as she stepped up a hill in the road, [i]I hope they know how to hold a shieldwall.[/i]

Hours passed as Ayla traveled down the lonely boreen. At one point, she swore she could hear singing in the distance, somewhere along a different path in the woods, but it was difficult to place where it was coming from. It was oddly cheering. The tune sounded bawdy and off-tune, the sort of singing a drunkard in a pub might bellow out, and it broke the silence so well. Without being able to place it, though, Ayla simply enjoyed it while it lasted. When it faded away completely, she filled the silence with an old Mordane battle chant. She was no skald, and she'd never sung that song in a real battle, but it was a bonny tune. 

Eventually, she came to the edge of the forest, and as she brushed a branch away from her face she could not restrain a slight feeling of awe at the sight of the city. It sat atop a hill, sprawling out from the castle at the top like a blanket of white, brown and gray. It seemed so proud a place, so grand and large. It made Ayla wonder what sort of forces had gathered to threaten this city in the past. She wondered, too, what breed of heroes had died defending it.

Ayla strode into the city, hands on her belt. She got called a "barbarian" by one of the city guards, but a glare silenced that lackwit right fast. She gave a simple explanation of why she was in town, and while the looks on the guards' faces suggested she was probably one of the evils she claimed to be hunting, they nevertheless let her through. Her next task was pressing some information out of the locals; a few quick talks later and she'd managed to learn where the Silver Dagger was located. There certainly could have been more enthusiasm in the commoner's voice.

[i]And there could have been more enthusiasm in the craftsmen who slapped this pathetic excuse of a barracks together,[/i] she thought as she marched up to the building. It was so plain, so ordinary, so uninspired. [i]But that's the problem with city-folk. They don't know how to make something practical [/i]and[i] pleasing.[/i] She did not have high hopes for this so-called Silver Dagger.

It was then, stepping around the corner of the building and coming to the front, that the Mordane saw the giant. There was really no better word to describe him. He was round as he was rough, tall as he was wide. The word 'big' stood out in her head, and she instinctively thought he might be a fool. Big sorts with big swords often were the fool sort to think they could take on the world. This one, though, looked... learned. He'd seen things, at least. And, just as noteworthy, the big fellow seemed to be rapping his hands against the door at that very moment.

[i]Interesting.[/i]

"Oi! Tiny!" she called out, keeping her hand on her belt. "Suppose you're here for work, too? You seem a mite fluthered."