There were fires burning in the distance, somewhere in the east. From the guard-post outside the stockade of Tros Hynt, Cerrynt couldn't tell how large, or how far, they were. That one might be a small campfire from some hunter of the Eryr-lûth nearby roasting a grouse, or it might be the burning ruins of some huge forgoil farm from which brave cymry were currently stealing horses. She had no way to know. She could only stare into the distance until her eyes swam and all points seemed as near as all others, fretting about the raid she was supposed to be part of, but was missing. The one she would someday soon have to repeat, alone.
She'd been dwelling amongst the Eagle Clan several weeks by this point, taken in by Danhadlen and trying not to be an imposition with such urgency as to make the older woman's head swim. (No doubt being more of one as a result, a lesson she might learn one day.) Every morning she was out early trying to find some work to do for the clan that had given her a temporary home; she'd been told she was welcome only so long as she did her share, and she could not rest until she was sure she had unequivocally done her share. But her father had never taught her any of the hearth-crafts; cooking, or mending, or tending the animals, or gathering herbs or forage or firewood, or building and repairing roundhouses, or really anything else. She could butcher a hunt well enough, though she was far better with fish (chances to fish were scarce when the only nearby river, the Isen, was contested), but otherwise most of what she knew was fighting.
So while she tried (and mostly failed, the others of the clan would probably say to each other when she was out of earshot) to learn the hearth-crafts, and to familiarize herself with horses so she could handle and perhaps even ride one during the raid, she mostly focused on trying to put her axe to use for the clan. They were dubious of a small girl, still visibly bruised, carrying an axe almost larger than her. It took several days even to convince one of the guards to spar her, so she could prove she could lift it, and use it. Then several more days of sparring, showing one warrior and then another the unusual techniques her father had developed with and for her, acrobatic twists and leaps that, rather than letting the great weight of the axe (compared to her own) be a burden, turned it to her advantage, letting her fling herself out of the way of blows from the counter-pointed movement of the axe-head itself, or tumbling backwards to bring the axe up at a surprising angle that slipped past most people's defenses.
At last, she'd earned, grudgingly, enough respect that she was permitted to take a turn at guarding the stockade gates, once, then a second time, then again. The other warriors of the clan wondered how her techniques might work against the Forgoil on horseback, something she herself puzzled over. The Dwrgi-lûth, nearly as far from the Gap as it was possible to be and still be in Dunland, had never even seen the Forgoil, let alone fought them. (In truth, the animosity for them that she picked up from almost everyone around her was disorienting at first.) But some of the guards thought her ways might prove effective, not just for the element of surprise, but because her ever-in-motion style might befuddle the cavalry tactics the Rohirrim used, forceful but inflexible.
One particular cloudless night she was asked to take a turn at the gate guard, and she swore, as solemnly as she made every vow and pledge, that she would. This was to be a particularly dangerous night, with a high chance of some Forgoil attack. She didn't think to ask why; she was too excited by the fact that, on a night where an attack was of greater likelihood, they were trusting her to stand at guard. They'd come to appreciate her keen eyesight, her swiftness, her greater mastery at battle than anyone expected from a small girl.
So when Danhadlen asked her if she was prepared for the raid, the realization of her mistake fell on her as slowly as the most unhurried rockfall. "Tonight?" she kept sputtering. "But it can't be tonight." Slowly she pieced it together. The reason for the likelihood of an attack was if this raid went poorly and the raiders were forced to retreat -- or if it went well and a retaliatory strike were made quickly. But she was so used to not knowing what life was like in Tros Hynt that the idea that there was a likely attack on a particular night didn't seem like a question that needed answering, nor one she could have hope of already knowing the answer to, so she never asked the question. She had, indeed, been told by Canwr when the raid would be, though there was something subtly different about the way the Eryr-lûth marked days and nights than what she was used to, that she hadn't quite figured out yet, so she had thought it would be one night later.
For someone whose vows meant all the world to her, finding herself thus caught between two, the pledge to steal a horse, and the promise to stand guard, was agonizing. She turned it over and over, came it from every angle. Finally she concluded there was one solution, a bad one, but the only one. There was nothing in her pledge to steal a horse from the Forgoil and bind it to Wulf's banner that required her to do it with the others on the same night -- that was merely a pragmatic consideration, that they were stronger together, that she knew little about horses or the Forgoil, that it was a challenging raid in a group and thus far more so alone. But it could be done. In fact, that night at Ysbrydnos, as she made the pledge, she had thought she was promising to do it on her own. And a second raid, copying the first, might strike even more fear into the hearts of their enemies, the knowledge that even knowing it had been done they could not prevent it happening a second time. Yes, perhaps this was for the best. As she stood staring at every point of light in the darkness wondering if it might be the people she'd met that night, coming back (in triumph, in terror, or in blood), she mused on how this path, unlikely as it seemed, must be the one the spirits had intended for her all along.
