Borr almost always left his outer door open as an invitation to any who may want to partake in his past time and join him. He'd turned his front room into a small but gleaming mead hall with a single large table, stools, and a wall of barrels of his various brews.
As much as this place was his own, he shared it freely, and beyond the community space everything else was privately his. It was from here he was emerging when Sindri knocked on the outer room and as with many horsemen he'd met, the face was familiar but the name escaped him.
Usually slightly hunched, the stallion straightened when she attempted to see past him and there was a blustery moment of feeling invaded until he swallowed it down with restrained grief at her question.
"I'm sorry girl, Helg is dead. And Bestula." His wife the priestess and daughter, her faithful and skilled guardian. The door behind him was pulled shut with enough force to rattle the wood. He wasn't yet ready for
that privacy to be breeched.
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