[Ealasaide]

Looking up, Sigrid could see the polished boots of the dark-haired young man hanging over the side of the roof. He had worked like a madman, hauling the buckets hand over hand up to the roof, one after the other until the inn's roof had stopped smoking. Then, he had dropped the rope and, now, didn't seem to be in much of a hurry to come down. She noticed one foot swung idly back and forth. Following her eyes, the blond young man laughed and took the empty bucket she still held out of her hands.

"Oh, he's done, that one," he said pleasantly. "What's yer name, lass?"

"Sigrid Ivarsdottir," she said and dropped a polite curtsy. The blond man grinned and nodded in return. He had a pleasant face that reminded her much of the farm boys back home. Instantly, she felt comfortable with him. The other one, though, the dark one, she wasn't too sure about. He had strikingly beautiful eyes, but there was a volatile quality about him that set her somewhat on edge. She smiled at the blond man, but cut her eyes again toward the roof. Again, the blond man's eyes followed her gaze.

"I'm Olav," he said suddenly, drawing her attention away from the roof. “That one's my cousin, Ragnar." He tucked two of the three buckets under one arm and picked up the third in his free hand. He gestured toward the still smoldering stable with a nod. “I guess they’ll still be needing these over there. How are your arms holding up? I think they‘ll be needing us, as well.”

“Oh, fine,” answered Sigrid with a laugh even though her arms were beginning to feel like limp straw. Olav began walking back in the direction of the water brigade by the stable. Sigrid had to jog a little catch up.

“Do you live in Edoras?” she asked.

He shook his head. “Oh, no. Passing through. You?”

Sigrid shrugged. “I hope to stay. I guess it depends on whether or not I can find work.”

“What do you do?” asked Olav.

Once more, Sigrid shrugged. “I’m hoping to find a place as a weaver, but I suppose I could do most anything. You know, cook, clean, sew.”

Inexplicably, Olav stopped and winked at her. “I guess you could.”

Puzzled, Sigrid stared at his back as he rejoined the water brigade. What the dickens was that supposed to mean? She glanced quickly in the direction of where she had left her dog and small bundle of belongings and was relieved to see that both were still there. Kajsa, the dog, had shifted so that she now lay with one paw resting on Sigrid’s bundle. Her bright eyes watched the activity in the inn yard with interest. Seeing that all was all right over there, Sigrid returned to the bucket line, inserting herself between Olav and a blond haired boy of about sixteen. Handing her a bucket, the boy smiled and nodded politely. Sigrid smiled back. She could see a hammer and a pouch of what looked like nails hanging from his belt. He’s come at the right time, she thought to herself. Too bad I’m a weaver and not a carpenter myself.

Turning her attention again to Olav, Sigrid pushed a bucket into his hands. “What did you mean by that?” she asked, referring to Olav’s comment of a few seconds earlier.

“Only that you’re a pretty girl and I’m sure you can find work,” he answered with a far greater degree of solemnity than the situation called for. Then, he winked again.

Sigrid flushed hotly. Oh, my goodness, he’s flirting with me! She wasn’t entirely sure what to do, whether to continue talking to him or to run away. Usually she could hide behind her father or one of her brothers if one of the boys at market got too fresh, but now she was on her own. Not knowing what else to do, she turned to the boy on her other side.

“They’ll probably need some good carpenters to rebuild the stable,” she said pleasantly and handed him a bucket.