Windsong

Exhaustion and age marked the young mans face. Lyndvarr had been out gathering herbs again, stocking his den in an effort to make some headway against the strange illness that was beginning to affect the loners of the area. He’d seen signs of the disease farther south and every day it seemed to be creeping farther north and he feared that the illness that ate at his niece and nephew might be the same. He didn’t know what this was. Pausing, Lyndvarr shifted the herbs in his mouth, ears standing alert at the call of his aunt. Swiftly he answered it, his lithe form winding through the red wood forest til he was at last in Katja’s presence. Dipping his head in greeting he set the herbs at his feet. “Katja, you called for me?”