Here we go again! Six Sunday is a chance for authors to display samples of their work six sentences at a time, click here to see a full list of all the others.
I’m carrying on with my excerpts from A Fierce Reaping, a story set in the 7th century AD concerning a warband sent south for a rumble with the Saxons of Bernicia, now Yorkshire, thus setting a precedent for future conflicts that continued with edged weapons until the 198th century and fists and boots today on the rugby pitch. Tradition is a wonderful thing.
Cynfal desperately needs a set of body armour – lightweight, flexible squares of studded leather, well greased against the wet – and has established that Gwion, the harper, has a spare set. Continuing directly from last week:
Gwion had stepped from the doorway to allow more light in and was holding his harp, one hand flat on the strings to still them. He was looking at the carving on the neck of the harp and only taking surreptitious glances at Cynfal. Cynfal pretended not to have noticed as he moved around the building, which was as well finished as the hall in Din Eidin.
“Did you do all the work yourself, you and …?” Cynfal asked.
“Llif – yes, just us.” Gwion hesitated, again came that characteristic swallow, the sweep of tongue tip across tight lips. “He died,” he added.