Kennagillian
Kenna ran up the last flight of stairs, and found her room with ease, dropping to her knees near the chest that held her past. She flipped the lid open with in trepidation, the latch long since broken. She dug past the parchments and keepsakes and found the cold metal of her sword. Standing up she held it tightly.
She had gotten it as a gift, used it for her protection a few times. The war at Birmingham she had watched the men wield them, sweating in the fields as they practiced. Bringing them water and dressing wounds fascinated. She was smart enough to know that any object could become a weapon if used properly, but swords they were almost holy. The sounds they made as they hit against one another was like the clashes of clouds and thunder, the way the light reflected from the blade, almost as wondrous as the stories told of the light from angels. She took it from the chest, and held it out. She pulled it from its sheath, and heard the sickening slide of its sharpness against the dull casing. Satisfied that it was still in mint condition, she strapped on her belting and slipped the sword on at her hip.
She was back down the stairs quicker, and through the hall. She heard voices but she knew it was Gina. Before she went to her she wanted to see what news Drest had, wanted to see her father.
She pushed the doors open and looked around for Jarlath. She headed for the stables, watching the woods and the fields as she went.
Finding three men standing together instead of two Kenna approached them slowly, walking around them to look down at what they were looking at.
She saw blood, the look on the mans face, and then looked over to see Kjolmar standing with her uncle and her father what happened? she asked, catching her breath.
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She had gotten it as a gift, used it for her protection a few times. The war at Birmingham she had watched the men wield them, sweating in the fields as they practiced. Bringing them water and dressing wounds fascinated. She was smart enough to know that any object could become a weapon if used properly, but swords they were almost holy. The sounds they made as they hit against one another was like the clashes of clouds and thunder, the way the light reflected from the blade, almost as wondrous as the stories told of the light from angels. She took it from the chest, and held it out. She pulled it from its sheath, and heard the sickening slide of its sharpness against the dull casing. Satisfied that it was still in mint condition, she strapped on her belting and slipped the sword on at her hip.
She was back down the stairs quicker, and through the hall. She heard voices but she knew it was Gina. Before she went to her she wanted to see what news Drest had, wanted to see her father.
She pushed the doors open and looked around for Jarlath. She headed for the stables, watching the woods and the fields as she went.
Finding three men standing together instead of two Kenna approached them slowly, walking around them to look down at what they were looking at.
She saw blood, the look on the mans face, and then looked over to see Kjolmar standing with her uncle and her father what happened? she asked, catching her breath.
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