The wind that blew down from the Sliabh Cruinn brought the frigid bite of winter. The land was covered in a thick layer of fresh snow.
Tavish had returned to his old self. With a wide grin, he admired his reflection in the ice that covered the river, a hand combing the hair around his mouth.
“I’m cuttin’ a foin figure,” he said.
“Yes you are,” Hennesi agreed peering over his shoulder. “Instead of admiring your own, you should be spending more time admiring mine.”
His grin widened. “Don’t ya’ be worryin’.” the bard added. “I still admire yer nice round….”
“Be nice” the warrior woman stopped him with a punch to his shoulder. They laughed together and Tavish stood. He took the lute from his back and began to strum.
“Been workin’ on an ode to yer foin self,” he said.
“You can sing it for me later,” the woman said with a smile.
“I’ll be usin’ me tongue fer other things, lass.” The bard grinned again and they shared a laugh.
They crossed the thin layer of ice that encased the river in an icy tomb and headed back toward the forest. For months they had wandered the outskirts of the woods, hunting and enjoying each others company, the memory of the battle in Talantas still fresh in their minds.
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