[EDWARD’S POV]
March 25, 1337
Today, I venture into the vast forest near the city of Norwich, accompanied by a dozen of my knights. My primary objective in this woodland exploration is to find a suitable falcon to be tamed using my newfound skill, "Falconry." Naturally, I've kept this plan under wraps, as revealing it to my pesky courtiers would likely lead to them declaring me immature and attempting to take control of the regency in Norwich. While my father would certainly disapprove of their actions, their strong public image could make it challenging to rectify the situation. I've used the excuse of hunting to secure approval for this day or two-long excursion, allowing the courtiers temporary authority over the earldom, even if it's a fragile hold. It's a stark reminder of the corrupting nature of power, which can tempt even the best of men.
To ensure that the councilors don't make any rash decisions during my absence, I've entrusted Sir Osbert to lead the regency council for the next few days. I have great faith in his loyalty and judgment, confident that he won't take actions that would undermine the earl's authority.
I'm accompanied by Sir Sigurd on this journey, along with my father's knights. My father, on the other hand, departed with only seven of his knights and more than fifty soldiers to the capital. He's made arrangements for the rest of his troops to stand ready in Norwich, prepared to move towards London upon his command. I'm genuinely impressed by his strategic foresight, a true visionary commander. I would have joined him if not for my youth, which prevents me from participating in the impending war. Additionally, as the sole male heir of my father, he would never willingly put me in what could very well be a deathtrap from the French.
Returning to the forest expedition, the woods lie just a mile (1.6 km) from the residential area of the city. My father had the foresight to construct a hunting lodge near the center of the forest, for which I must thank him. Upon our arrival, we settled in less than an hour. All thirteen horses were safely sheltered under a shed, and all the knights, except one responsible for guarding the horses, entered the lodge to prepare for the hunt. We organized an array of equipment, including cudgels (clubs) for small game, boar spears for boars and similarly sized animals, hunting bows with a 30 kg (66 lbs) draw weight and several horns for communication during the hunt.
As the day unfolded, we followed the game trails, our eyes scanning the woods for signs of our quarry. The air was filled with the scents of the forest—earth, moss, and pine—adding to the anticipation of the chase.
It wasn't long before we came upon a group of rabbits, scurrying about in the underbrush. With a nod, I signaled my knights to dismount and retrieve their cudgels. In a coordinated effort, we surrounded the rabbits, gently herding them toward a clearing. As the small game came into range, the knights swung their cudgels with precision, making quick and humane kills.
After securing a good number of rabbits, we continued our hunt. The knights kept their boar spears at the ready, as we sought signs of larger quarries such as boars or deer. The hunt extended into the late afternoon, our bows silently releasing arrows when the opportunity arose. Our horns, carried by some of the knights, were used to communicate and coordinate our efforts throughout the hunt.
As the sun began its descent, we decided to make our way back to the hunting lodge, following a well-trodden path that led us through the dimming forest. The fading light painted a mystical atmosphere, casting long, eerie shadows among the ancient trees.
Once we reached the lodge, a rustic yet welcoming structure in the heart of the woods, our knights set to work. We had captured a good number of rabbits during our hunt, and it was crucial to make the most of our catch.
A crackling fire was lit in the lodge's hearth, and the knights began to prepare the rabbits. Some were expertly skewered and roasted over the open flame, their savory aroma filling the lodge. Others were carefully preserved by smoking them, a method that would allow us to transport the meat back to the city the following evening, ensuring it remained fresh.
As the scent of roasted rabbit filled the lodge, the knights gathered around a large wooden table, and we feasted on the fruits of our labor. The camaraderie of the hunt and the satisfaction of a successful day in the woods filled the lodge with warmth and cheer.
Our hunting horns, now silent, hung on the walls, a reminder of the day's activities. The lodge itself provided a rustic yet comfortable respite in the heart of the wilderness, a place where noble tradition and the practicalities of survival converged.
With our bellies filled, the lodge's hearth crackling, and the promise of a safe and comfortable night in the woods, we settled in, ready to rest and be prepared for the bigger hunt tomorrow.
Under the shroud of night, the moon's soft glow cast an ethereal light upon the ancient woods of Norwich. My loyal knights, with the exception of two guards stationed at our hunting lodge, slumbered soundly, oblivious to the call that tugged at my heart. It was an inexplicable urge that drove me into the heart of the forest, a longing to explore the depths of the night-shrouded woods.
Silently, I slipped through the lodge's back door, my leather boots making nary a sound as they met the forest floor. The moonlight filtered through the dense canopy, painting the woods with a ghostly luminescence. The familiar tools of the hunt—my cudgels, boar spears, and bows—remained behind, replaced only by a determined resolve to seek out a falcon, a creature I had long admired for its grace and majesty.
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My steps were deliberate, each one a whisper in the silent night. The moon's glow played tricks on the forest, casting eerie shadows and illuminating the ancient trees as spectral sentinels. The night had its own peculiar stillness, every sound hushed, every rustle of leaves magnified in the quiet.
The pursuit of a falcon in the dead of night proved challenging. The forest seemed an impenetrable labyrinth, its paths obscured by underbrush, and the silence was stifling, weighing upon me like a tangible presence.
Doubt began to gnaw at the edges of my determination. Had I been driven by a fool's impulse? Was this venture into the night a futile endeavor? The night seemed to keep its secrets well-guarded, offering no reassurances.
Still, I pressed on, deeper into the forest. The quest had become a solitary battle against the night itself, and with every step, I felt the weight of the darkness upon my shoulders. The pursuit of the elusive falcon seemed more distant with each passing moment.
As the night wore on, and the moon marked its steady journey across the sky, I fought against the encroaching despair. The pursuit of a falcon was a challenge even in daylight, and the obscurity of the night seemed to conspire against me. But I could not abandon the quest.
My footsteps, once resolute, grew heavier, and the night whispered doubts into my ears. Perhaps the call of adventure was but a siren's song, leading me deeper into the labyrinthine woods.
But then, as hope waned and the night reached its darkest hour, I stumbled upon a sight that left me breathless. Perched high in the branches of a towering tree, a creature of transcendent beauty waited—the Peregrine Falcon. Known as the fastest bird in the world, it possessed a grace and power that were renowned among nobles and hunters.
The Peregrine Falcon's sharp eyes gleamed in the moonlight, its feathers shimmering as if dusted with stardust. I watched in silent reverence, awestruck by the majestic creature. It regarded me with curiosity, my presence without fear or concern.
As I stood beneath the towering tree that cradled the Peregrine Falcon, a moment of anticipation hung in the air. The ancient art of falconry called to me, and with a quiet resolve, I invoked my falconry skill, the humble "Lv.1" ability that linked me to the avian world. It was a skill passed down through generations, a connection to the natural world that transcended the boundaries of time.
With the skill invoked, I called out softly to the night sky, my voice carrying through the forest. The falcon, perched high above, regarded me with an interest that seemed to match my own. It was a dance between man and bird, a connection that defied the veil of night.
In response to my call, the Peregrine Falcon unfurled its wings, a majestic silhouette against the moonlit sky. It descended gracefully, the wind whispering through its feathers as it landed on a nearby branch.
With each silent step, I took toward the falcon, its sharp eyes locked onto mine, a silent communication passing between us. It was a connection forged in the silence of the medieval woods, a moment that transcended the boundaries of the future and the past.
As I approached the falcon, I extended my gloved hand toward it, my heart pounding with a mixture of excitement and reverence. The Peregrine Falcon, while wild and untamed, hopped from the branch and onto my arm, its talons gripping the leather of my glove with a gentle but unmistakable force.
The connection was solidified, forming a unique bond between a man who had journeyed from the future and the king of falcons. The Peregrine Falcon regarded me with regal apathy, seemingly recognizing our newfound partnership. This moment held profound significance, serving as evidence of the timeless art of falconry.
A pop-up window appeared before me, affirming our connection in the ethereal glow of the moonlight. "You have bonded with a Peregrine Falcon," it read, confirming our union. It was a validation of the ancient art that had brought us together, a recognition of the connection between man and bird.
With the Peregrine Falcon perched on my arm, I felt a profound sense of wonder and gratitude. The skills of falconry were not just tools; they were the keys to a connection that spanned the boundaries of time. As we stood together beneath the moonlit canopy of the medieval forest, the falcon and I were united, and our journey had only just begun.
As the moon continued its silent vigil, I turned back toward the hunting lodge. The moon continued to cast its silvery glow upon the medieval forest as I retraced my steps, making a deliberate effort to remain as silent as a shadow.
The back door to the lodge creaked open, and I slipped inside with the falcon still perched on my arm. The two guards stationed at the entrance were vigilant but unaware of the extraordinary encounter that had transpired in the depths of the woods.
With great care, I made my way to my own room, ensuring that the Peregrine Falcon remained comfortable and secure. In the corner of the chamber, a boar spear leaned against the wall, its sturdy shaft ending in a pointed head. It would serve as an improvised perch for my noble companion.
As I approached the boar spear, the Peregrine Falcon hopped from my arm and onto the shaft of the spear. With remarkable dexterity, it used its sharp talons to grip the wood firmly, finding a secure position that allowed it to survey the room. The regal indifference in its eyes persisted, and it seemed at ease in this newfound roost.
I watched with a sense of wonder and admiration as the Peregrine Falcon settled in, perched on the boar spear as if it were a throne. This remarkable bird, the king of falcons, had now become my companion.
With a final nod of acknowledgment, I climbed onto my bed, settling into the soft embrace of the furs and blankets. The Peregrine Falcon remained perched on the boar spear, its keen eyes still gleaming with a regal air. The room was filled with a sense of silent companionship.
As I closed my eyes and drifted into slumber, the Peregrine Falcon remained vigilant, keeping watch over the room and the timeless connection that had been forged in the heart of this very forest.