The first horns had sounded, what seemed, a long time ago. Ceolswith and some of the remaining men protecting the Eastern Gate had fled to the Western Gate. She could see Cynebur and another gathering of warriors trying to protect the ceorlfolc as they fled. Soon, she watches Cynebur fall back, calling out for everyone to leave. Ceolswith helped with getting the retreating warriors out of the gate, but notices that the miner, Ruscbald is heading back into the fray. She bolts after him, Cynebur shouting at her to come back.
She did not understand how the rounded miner could run that hard and with such grace to avoid the attackers. Ceolswith struggled to keep up, fighting and evading her way to the tavern. She could see Ruscbald grab a small cask of oil, soon two before drinking a remaining ale. She shouted at him for pausing as she reached for another one. She saw the swinging sword before feeling the damaged from what happened to her hand. A blade of an Easterling swung down at her left hand, cutting her fingers and sticking into the wood. Ceolswith pulled her hand back before killing the attacker. Time seemed to slow as she studied her wound before hearing the miner call her crazy.
Suddenly, pain flooded her hand, reminding her of what was there before. She grabbed her bloodied fingers, sword still in hand and chased after the miner, cursing him out more. The rest of her time in Stangard was a blur. She barely remembered being pulled away from the burning gate. Someone shouted at her about needing to leave and they ran somewhere.
When she woke up, her left hand was wrapped in better cloth than her sleeve. They were hiding somewhere with a river close by. She got up to seek solitude as her entire body ached from the fighting. Near the river, she fell to the grass. She did not want to deal with anyone, but they wanted her to lead them.
The days that followed were not any better. She could not sleep, instead making sure others got their sleep. She did not eat, instead making sure that the children got fed before everyone else. What made it all the worst was the pity she saw in everyone’s faces after she asked Cynebur for helping taking the restricting bandages off. One of the older warriors told her it was a badge of honor, earned for defending Stangard. She thought she believed it, but her doubts washed away as the name of Sixfingers started to stick.
Instead, she found solace in the Cempa. Torwiga, champion of two tournaments, was her escape from pity. She took his words to heart when he brought up that she was not under oath to anyone. Packing her remaining belongings (her sword and helm) the Quartermaster of Stangard took off in the dead of night. The watching archers were only told that she would return shortly. Like six years ago, Ceolswith was running from her problems. Instead of Bree though, she was just going home to Harwick, eager to see her father again.
