He who sleeps with a spear by his bed is a fool every night but one.
Aeshaeidr feels a thin, shaky breath pass her lips. As she draws her knees up to her chest, curling in on herself in the limited space of her tent, her eyes focus on the pointed blades of the spears she had collected; one she had been given by Alweard, though she isn’t quite sure where he found it. The other by Adriwyn, having plucked it from the ground after the battle that day. She is more comfortable with a spear in her hands, the sword being heavy and awkward to her, but the sight of them now brings a curl to her lips. The words of accusation ring still in her ears.
“You hesitated and froze like a deer caught in the chase-”
So, she did not allow herself to hesitate today. Alweard had called for her to come forward and fight, and so she did. Wrecca had told her not to be afraid, and so she stifled her fear. Yet, she does not have to shuffle from her spot to know that the grime and blood still sticks to her boots. It had made her stomach churn just to look at after the battle, and the thought of cleaning it away as if it meant nothing makes her ill even now. She clutches her arms across her stomach, trying to make herself even smaller in the solitude of her tent. Aeshaeidr winces her eyes shut, attempting to wrest away the memory of battle and the lingering shouts of warriors in its throes.
“-you eagerly offloaded any martial task unto your seniors-“
So, she took up the duty earnestly. Although, in hindsight, she could have been quicker, and should not have let Alweard have to cry out for help. Yet the sight of Thorvall, for a moment, not being quick enough, and the red blood that burst from his shoulder - that was enough to distract her, to cause the dread to settle into her stomach.
Another thin breath passes her lips as she tries to stifle the bile that rouses in her stomach. She had rushed forward to Alweard’s aid in the end, had she not? She had not hesitated then, she had not offloaded the task unto another, like Wrecca or Adriwyn. No, she had been the one to fell the man.
“-the sword is clumsy in your hands-“
Aeshaeidr thrusts herself up on her hands and rolls to where she does not have to look upon the weaponry any longer. She tries to settle again before the nausea overtakes her, curling up as she had before. One breath, another, then a third; anything to quell it rising in her throat.
She is the one to have felled the man, after all; spear in hand rather than sword. It was not clumsy then, when the alternative was to let Alweard suffer, him and the rest of her fellows. She recalls the way her spear was caught, and how Alweard had to kick his body away to let her wrench it loose. The thought leads her to press a hand over her mouth and wince her eyes shut, but there is little relief now to be found in trying to fall asleep.
A gentle lurch sends her scrambling to her feet, keeping that hand clasped across her mouth as she slips out of her tent. As her mind races with the events of the past few weeks - the fires, the hounds and howling, the fortress, and now this siege at Sedgebury - her sickness overcomes her, and she is left with a final thought that hangs over her like a cloud of smoke.
“-you are not so battle-hardened as you claimed to be.”
