Ossinett

She remembered the strangeness of their wedding day, a dozen customs that each felt more alien than the last. With no house colours of her own, the ladies in waiting had woven a wedding wreath of desert flowers entwined with the purple roses and yellow daylillies whilst Freystorm's cooks had baked thick crusted pie. When Ser Thomelin cut the pastry with his longsword, three shy of two dozen live songbirds burst from opening and filled Freystorm's great hall with colour and so

Ser Jorren looked over his shoulder as the Sprintfall knight emptied the purse into his gloved palm. Eight silver coins fell from the leather bag as Ser Don moved them around to budget for the weeks ahead - Six Silver Stars could buy them both salt meats and hardtack for the week, but forty eight could feed the wandering pair well. The young errant's mind drifted to coins of gold. he'd seen one once, a Golden Sun stamped with the dead King's image, it had been in a woodcutter