The skald was going to craft this skirmish in Redcliffe into prose; she knew this already, but had not yet settled upon the cadence or the words. Such things could not be rushed, as no doubt many a teacher had told his skald-apprentice, but Hilda was as patient as the very earth in things other than merely her art. It would come to her, the images, the words sliding off her tongue as if placed there by the fates, and when they did, she would be ready to remember them for all time.
But while the thoughts were bubbling and whirling around in her mind, the blonde skald went for a walk, to survey the township. The damage of the attack had been wrought, but already the resilient people of Redcliffe were repairing, rebuilding. Hilda wondered briefly if they would burn Vienne and bury her ashes here, or if they would be sent back to Amaranthine.As she was thinking this, however, she spotted Imenry on the stone bridge, returning from her venture to the orchard. Hilda smiled, cheered to see her mountain-sister up ahead, and lifted a hand to greet her -
- but ah, there was a man standing there that called her first. They ran together and there was much hugging and possibly tears, and Hilda gathered that there was a reunion here of some sort, joyous in tone. The skald's smile deepened in the corners, and as she continued her approach, she kept her long-legged pace as slow as possible, just to eat up the most possible time. She would let them have their moment; by the looks of it, it was something straight from the sagas and the eddas.