Summer 922 MC
Richard looked out the window of the map room, gazing to the east.
“When do you think Father will be back?” he asked.
“Not until tomorrow,” replied Edward. “He was going east, scouting the edge of the Whitewood towards the Wickfield hills.”
“Why there, of all places?” mused Richard. “Surely, the Norlanders aren’t so foolish as to try to come through the Whitewood?”
“I honestly don’t know,” said Edward, “but there have been some animal attacks that can’t be explained, and he wants to keep an eye on the hunters and trappers that are up that way. They’re an important source of revenue for us.”
“Isn’t the greater threat from Norlanders?”
“We’re not a rich barony, Richard. We need the income from those hunters to help bear the burden of all these troops you like to ride aro
