Spring – 1024 YD
West of Waylin, Lenyol
The sheep rotated in their pens like woollen whirlpools. Their bleating was echoed by the bellowing of cattle from their yards.
__Custodin Màtac surveyed the movement around him, of carriages riding in, shepherds and drovers guiding their stock, dozens of servants tending the tents, and a subdued rainbow of personages tarrying this way and that.
__‘My Lord,’ the Countess of Riverton quietly murmured, touching Màtac’s arm and nodding toward the north-east. The Custodin turned to follow her gaze, the Baron of Waylin oscillating with him.