Régnwald's horse stomped and pawed in the grass impatiently as he sat silently, watching a beat a woman alone in the fields, picking herbs.
''Dusk soon, eh.''
Woman turned, saw Régnwald some yards off as she fought her intrigue.
''You a herd dog?''
Régnwald, momentarily thrown, struggled up a grin.
''Been called worse. I'm --
''Yes. The much-told warrior from the Wold.''
In their glances there was obvious attraction, but both were cautious in the manner, reluctant to appear drawn. The woman would turn back to her work as Régnwald dismounted, edged closer.
''You were born here?''
''No. I came here in my teens.
A whore to Stanric's uncle, Siglaf Three-Legs.
Maybe I'm wrong. Maybe it was One.
Leg.''
Régnwald let her grim quip have its moment.
''...My allegiance to Harding brought me here.''
''It happens. I guess you weren't made a whore.''
A silence. He got her point. The woman would continue with picking plants.
''I'm told you know of things to come.''
''That's a wide sea.''
''Of terrible events and the deaths of things.''
''Seeing that everything living dies... Speak clean. You wonder of yourself.''
''More of what awaits my kin.''
Woman flashed him a dubious smile ''Not of yourself?''
''In some things I'd rather be blind.''
''We heard the eorling warriors were blessed in flesh, but also thought.'' She paused, threw him a look, a silence. She relented. ''By Béma, you're the lamest blood-mighty I've met!''
''We game our lives coming here. To help our kin. You said you're eorling.''
''I'm not a lame.''
Régnwald grabbed hold of her arm, his anger rising. But she stared back at him, giving no physical resistance, only her eye.
He spoke warningly ''Many men wouldn't hold themselves.''
''Oh, so you're soft-heart too.''
Régnwald caught himself, releasing her arm and stepped back.
''Some men end up torn to bits. And eaten. Their heads used for bowling.''
Régnwald scowled, thrown by the weirdness of her warning.
''Bowling?''
''Rolling a ball against standing cups... or - I dunno - skulls? The trolls play it. But you're just a worm-eaten southern shit... So I guess you wouldn't know.''
Régnwald stared hard at her, but her gaze was more than a match. Soon they were interrupted by Hondscioh and Burgmyr riding up on horseback. Régnwald broke eye contact with her, glancing at Hondscioh.
''The day's going down, if we want to return...'' spoke Hondscioh, a hand clad in leather and chain waving over towards Stangard that stood high a few ten miles away.
Régnwald nodded, and started back toward his steed.
''Careful with what you don't understand.'' The woman spoke.
Régnwald turned, eyeing her a beat, then continued on with his boys.
Once out of woman's earshot, Burgmyr caught Hondscioh's eye, grinned.
''That's one spooky Eorlsmead girl.'' commented Hondscioh with his usual hoarse, wry tone.
''Y'ever heard of bowling?'' Régnwald glanced between them ''Something the trolls do.''
''Y'ever met a troll?'' asked Hondscioh who rode beside Régnwald with his white stallion.
''Knew someone who did.'' Burgmyr gave his response.
Hondscioh gave a snort of doubt and the men continued on...
