The Westfold lay hold to a life now distant. Gleorwyn, daughter of Glædwine and Leofwyn found herself leaving the borders of her homeland many a year ago, to what end even now Gleorwyn does not know. Suffering a recent incident, elements of past and history have trouble fitting together. She recalls only the slightest of memories... perhaps inconsequential fragments of her parents and a stout boy she called brother. Her people are not inclined to wander, to take roads away from the Mark, but yet she is no longer there. She finds herself amongst familiar faces, an Eored, strong in number for one so removed of their kindred. Though it holds many a variety of people, not all militaristic. Stable hands, scouts, maids... Gleorwyn’s place within them is of some elevation, named Maegisterwigend in rank. She can hold her own with weaponry, she is highly skilled on horseback but within herself she feels strangely detached. Her strength and personal resolve wanes more and more with each day, finding comfort more with plans, discussions and out of dangerous lines. She, unlike many is able to read and write though practices it little and still prefers recounting the songs of family and home. It is understood that in such times, so far from home, a person must sacrifice such comforts and do what they must. Especially to see the glimmer of golden fields. Though in such uncertainty, insecurities set precedence in weaker minds. She finds herself sitting more and more in solitude. Her mood changing swiftly, occasionally putting people on edge. Confused, troubled, tired and lost. Bonds have been made with her fellow riders, they are in her eyes family, but frequently she keeps her feelings to herself, remaining more oft then not, misunderstood.