Moonsong Glacier Sing a song of sixpence

@Eira you sweetheart :>

He dreamt. 

He woke. 

He hunted. 

He marked. 

The days seemed endless and repeating as the pattern became ingrained in his head. 

He finished his tasks as any good man did. The sunset came to first, whom he considered his lady. 

Today, he wanted to watch the peltsmith at her craft, slipping in silently in hope of not disturbing her.