Cempa watched the insufferable Weard twirl around the mismatched pair and approach Sir Wulfslæd. Hrolf and Tadhgán shuffled out of the crowd.

“How are you feeling, Weard?” said Sir Wulfslæd.

“Much better, Sir.”

“Hrolf?”

“Fit for duty,” said Hrolf.

“Tadhgán?”

“Nothing a few beers won’t fix,” said Tadhgán.

“What about Arnwald?”

Weard and Hrolf glanced at Tadhgán and waited for him.

Tadhgán tensed “He’s dead, Sir.”

Sir Wulfslæd’s immaculate posture deflated, “What happened?”

“A huge creature attacked us,” said Tadhgán. “Even if it was light enough, I’m not sure I would’ve known what it was.”

“We encountered something similar,” said Cempa. “I’m surprised you’re still alive.”

“Gods,” said Tadhgán. “There were more of them?” He hugged his chest.

“Our casualties were my horse and a few injuries,” said Sir Wulfslæd. “I can only wish it had been the same for you.”

“Me too, Sir,” said Tadhgán.

“Did you reach Éabrycg?” said Sir Wulfslæd.

“No, Sir. We were attacked on the first night, I barely made it back.”

Sir Wulfslæd nodded slowly, “Well done for returning.”

“Likewise, Sir,” said Tadhgán.

“Is he really dead?” said Milde.

“How else do you say it?” said Tadhgán, he sounded angry.

“Damn,” said Milde. “That feels weird. Never been in a troop that’s lost someone.”

Tadhgán sagged, “I’ve seen it a few times. I know I’ll forget about him in a few months, if I don’t, I could freeze when it counts and end up joining him, but knowing that makes our friendship seem cheap.” He pulled out a charm from around his neck, “He left me something to remember him by though.”

Weard leapt back as if he’d been given a static shock, “Argh! Put that thing away. It gives me the shivers.”

“What’s wrong with it?” said Tadhgán.

“Let me have a look,” said Leth. Tadhgán handed the charm over.

“Did you get rained on?” said Leth.

“A little,” said Tadhgán.

Leth nodded, rearranged some of the beads and feathers, then carved a few extra marks into the existing symbols. The charm began to glow. Weard backed away.

“Well who’d have thought it,” said Leth. “This thing actually works.”

“What do you mean?” said Tadhgán.

“It repels Drýlic entities such as wisps,” said Leth. “It’s not very powerful so anything like the monsters who attacked you will only feel uncomfortable.” Leth stared at Weard, “So what does that make you?”

“None of your bloody business,” said Weard.

“I’ve seen so many unusual things in the last two weeks I’m beginning to lose interest,” said Leth. “If you want to keep your secret, I don’t think anyone here will particularly care, but a bit of trust can go a long way you know.”

“Shut up!” Weard panted, “Please, cover the damn thing, I feel like termites are crawling all over me.”

Leth cut the leather cord, removed the central stone and retied it. The charm stopped glowing. He handed both pieces back to Tadhgán, “If you want to make it work again, just put the middle piece back in.”

Tadhgán grinned at Weard, “I think I could have some fun with this.”

Weard exhaled slowly and sat cross-legged in the grass, “If you try anything, I’m burning it.”

Cempa frowned. What was Weard so afraid of?

“What happened to your hair, pretty boy?” said Clæfre.

“I took a shower,” said Weard.

“Are you alright?” said Leth. “The rain was full of Feorhlíf.”

“Yes, I’m fine thanks,” said Weard.

Wait, why isn’t Weard asking what Feorhlíf is. How many secrets does that little shit have? So irritating.

“Weard was the one who told us all to stay inside,” said Hrolf. “He gave us a lovely speech about how he figured it was dangerous, but I’m starting to think he knew from the beginning.”

“Some grateful bunch you are,” said Weard. “One lousy charm and you all glare at me like I’m a déofol or cargást.”

“Don’t get me wrong, lad,” said Hrolf. “I’m plenty appreciative. I saw the goat too.”

“The what?” said Cempa.

Weard whistled then pointed a thumb over his shoulder at the village, “Take a look.”

An exceptionally large goat trotted through the onlookers, knocking them side to side with each sweep of its two heads. The two head’s kept knocking against each other too. Cempa got the distinct impression the animal didn’t like itself.

“I named it Godfrey,” said Weard. “Thought he would make a good religious icon.”

“How profound,” said Cempa.

“I knew you’d like it.”

Although the goat was a terrible surprise, Éaggemeare was even weirder. The sharpened stakes had sprouted, the buildings were covered with green growth, and any house with a chimney now had a tree instead, where smoke trailed from oval holes in the trunks.

“The village looks like you Weard,” said Milde. “Pretty on the outside, all twisty on the inside.”

“Good to see you too,” said Weard.

Sir Wulfslæd clapped his hands once, “That’s enough chatter. Anything else I should know?”

“Place is a wreck, Sir,” said Hrolf. “Like Milde said, all the houses are messed up, full of roots and stuff. It’s like living in a cave full of moist cobwebs. I think most of the villagers are still in shock, but they’re a stubborn bunch so I expect they’ll be staying.”

“Will they let us stay, or do they blame us for the disaster?” said Sir Wulfslæd.

“There’s been some nonsense,” said Hrolf. “But we’ve been making ourselves useful, so I doubt we’ll be chased out with pitchforks.” He nodded at Mésia, “A lot depends on what she tells them.”

*

“Where are your brother and sister?” said Hoff.

Elewýs shook her head.

Hoff sighed, “At least I have one daughter back. Mésia, it’s Elewýs!”

“That thing is not my daughter.” Spit sprayed from her mouth as she spoke with excessive enunciation.

Hoff ground his teeth, “Can’t you be happy just for one moment?”

“She’s an animal,” said Mésia.

Elewýs stood. Her shadow eclipsed both her parents and stretched all the away to the fidgeting crowd, “Do you really mean that?”

“I-” Mésia trembled for a moment, then fled through the nervous villagers.

“Gods!” said Hoff. He sprinted towards one of the sprouted wood stakes in the palisade and kicked it several times.

“Ahhhhhh!” Hoff took a deep breath, kicked the stake one last time, and returned to Elewýs’s side, limping, “I should really make myself some shoes.”

“My own mother, Dad. Was she always this abrasive?”

He patted her arm, “It’ll be alright. You did well not to call her a bitch.” Hoff laced his hands and stretched his arms forwards; he popped and creaked, “Ah, much better. She was never the same after she saw the three of you all stretched out like runner beans. I think before she could work out what she thought of it, you were gone, been eating at her ever since. Like I care about a little cosmetics though. I married your mother, didn’t I?”

Elewýs snickered through her budding tears.

Hoff took Elewýs’s hand, “Come on, let me get you something to eat, not sure you’ll fit through the door though.”

Hoff led Elewýs through a parting crowd. She stood outside her house for the first time in five years.

I don’t recognise a thing. Elewýs took a deep breath and tried to put her muddled emotions in order. Her hands started to shake.

“I think it’s better if I don’t go in,” said Elewýs.

“That’s enough self-pity out of you lass, stop dawdling and come in.” Hoff squeezed her hand again. Although it felt more like an infant pulling on her three middle fingers, Elewýs was comforted by the gesture.

“I missed you, Dad.”

“I missed you too, sweetie.”