Illustration 003 (updates Thursdays)

“Good enough,” said Mannagarm, and he went into the house. Inside, the longhouse stunk of smoke from the cook-fire where one of his servants was making dinner. He looked around and scrunched up his nose at the assault of smells. The thatch was wet and mouldy. The floor was mere hard-packed dirt. A mouse ran across the floor, surprised by the entrance of the old man. “Heh,” he sneered.

Illustration 001 (updates Thursdays)

Mannagarm stood on the gravelly path that stretched from the threshold of his hilltop longhouse to the village below. The path twisted past the old dead mountain ash that clung to the cliff’s edge there. And from where Mannagarm stood, beside the tree, he could see the trackway twist below him, down, down to where the houses and shacks and sheds of the village cowed together.