Bramblepoint when the sun is perched at it's highest peak,

the stranger walked with an odd step, and iseldur glanced down momentarily at the leg in which he limped on ; seemingly uninjured, he thought. no scar, nor open wounds. perhaps just a weak leg. and so the thought would venture to the back of his mind.

apples, he echoed, faint upon his tongue. a soft hum followed as he gave his own version: ùbhlan. the knight gave a nod, then, looking back to what once would have been a glistening orchard, full of life and wild animals. now, though, the leaves had wilted from the trees, and the brackens littered the grounds. no longer a resource.

remnants, he said. but iseldur shook his head. snow-covered ùbhlan only rot. weather not good for fruit. as the winter did not foster an environment for the apples to neither continue growing nor stay fresh. not only that, but should there be any apples left, a forest creature surely would have already arrived to take the rest for themselves.

iseldur, the sun-man answered. squire, @Cathal, should be nearby. your name?