Yute et Saedas Ridineig

Recorded during the First Age of the Drakun Kongren

Dedicated by an unknown Skald-midig in honor of the first Kongr of Ilvana

When the bite of the wind turns barren

When the sun melts the shadows away

When flying minstrels call anew from their hollows

And black bjurn crawl forth from their dens

When the South Crow changes flight

And to the north brings wind

Then the time of remembrance is upon us

And with all of nature, we sing again

Yute, Urd-Yute, we are grateful

For what has come before

Yute, Eda-Yute, we are thankful

For the things we hold in hand

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Yute, Aon-Yute, we celebrate

All the things fate holds in store

Life, we celebrate life

Thanks, we give thanks

Let all Ilvana sing

Wake the earth

Bring the spring

Yute et Saedas!

We give thanks!

* * * * * * * * * *

CHAPTER 2

Lyssia glanced over at her aunt for the hundredth time since they had passed through the stead gate. Carryn had been waiting for them on the far side of the stables with four groomed and saddled horses. She had chosen a sweet mare with a golden coat aptly named Honey for Lyssia as opposed to her stockier steed. She had been all smiles and murmured pleasantries when Lyssia ran up with Azerian and Roakev sprinting to catch her. But Lyssia had noticed the slight tremor in her fingers - all eight of them - as she checked the fit of the saddles for the tenth time, and there were dark circles under her eyes.

Lyssia rode between her vacant-eyed aunt and her brooding cousin and tried to follow Azerian’s animated chatter, but despite her best attempt to retain her light mood, she felt her spirit rapidly deflating. The silence was not unusual for Carryn or Roakev, but this was not a comfortable silence. It was heavy with worries unspoken. She had a good guess at what was weighing Roakev down, but Carryn’s mood was a mystery to her.

The relief she felt twenty minutes into their journey when she saw her aunt take a deep breath and shake her shoulders loose was tremendous. Slowly, the tension that made Carryn’s hands tremor drifted away on the breeze and small smiles crossed her lips when her son directed his one-sided conversation in her direction.

An hour after they left the stead, the narrow path they followed met up with a wider road of trampled earth - the halfway point to their destination. When Azerian pointed it out and suggested they pick up the pace, Carryn looked over at Lyssia and beamed. Lyssia’s answering grin extended wide past the curve of her mask.

Carryn took off like an arrow released from a bow on the heels of Azerian’s horse. Lyssia gripped the reins tighter, nudged her mare’s sides with her boots, and let loose a shriek of excitement as she cantered after Carryn. Roakev followed behind her, a dark brooding presence chasing them.

* * * * * * * * * *

Ho, Karl!” Azerian cried out.

The cart driver had stopped several lengths up the road to allow...