The wild west wind blew fiercely once more in the Mark. Upon the hills, two tiny figures on horses were seen racing with great haste southward, to the meadows of the Wold, dwarfed by the towering snow-capped mountains. The horses were large with sweat, their breath a white cloud in the chilly air as they stretched under their heavy riders adorned in war-nets.
''The hour grows late, Régnwald, if we want to head on.''
For a fleeting moment, Régnwald looked very old and not without qualm by reasons unknown to him, but then the firmness returned to his eyes, and he gave the red-bearded man a sideways nod.
The sun had already set behind the mountains as they arrived in the gorge that had for ages been the sheltered winter retreat of the herds. Here, they were protected from the icy gusts that otherwise ravaged the plains and challenged every man and beast that dared to live in the wild during the dark season of the year. Albeit, for reasons yet to unfold, the place was empty, silent and dreary.
On their second day, they loaded their horses. The two Eorlings' battle-armour clanged as they rode to press northward. But a fiercely blown horn would herald the change of things in the air. ''Hold there!'' shouted the horseman who kept watch over the hill. They were two. The other watchman then looked over Régnwald and then Hondscioh under his war-mask, apparently knowing this visage.
Finding sense, Régnwald rammed the weapon home. ''As you wish.''
''Now you'll tell who you are!''
''I'm Régnwald of Folde, and this is Hondscioh of Eastemnet.''
The watchman spoke: ''No, you come carryin' wolf-heads. Have you come to rob us? Do you want us to give you gold to go away?''
Hondscioh spoke in grim mood ''Rather we will give you sharp-pointed spears and ancient swords upon your head. Come down to where we are and we will show you.''
''Do not insult us.'' Régnwald replied. ''We are no raiders. We come with good news from Forlaw, to your Harding.''
''How can I know if your words are true?'' protested the other watchman, high upon the saddle, appearing young and fierce in mood. ''I do not believe your story.'' he cried. '''Tis nothing but a trick. We will show you what fighting is, and let the wolf and the raven have what remains when we have finished.''
The elderly rider spoke with a raised fist clad in armour ''Wait here a while! My man will guard you. I must speak with lord Harding before I let you go further.'' He let his hawk fly from off his wrist, then he ordered his men to leave their horses and go down the hill. Soon he would storm off, to Harwick, wooden towers of which were greeting them from a distance.
