"Thank you for helping me with the horses," said Aylwen gratefully. “I’m so thankful for everyone’s help, and I’m trying to think of a way to show them how much I appreciate this. That can come later, though. Let’s go see where we are now, and everyone can give their input as to where we go from here.”
With a quick smile at Sigrid, the assistant Innkeeper took off at a rapid pace in the direction of the charred remains of the stable. Picking up her little bundle and with a quick chirp to the dog, Sigrid fell into step behind the young woman. Ahead of her, she could see the fire had nearly gone out. Some of the men, including Faran and Olav, were now walking into the ruins stamping out small fires with their boots. Women continued tossing water on the embers. With a glance at the Inn, Sigrid noticed that nothing was visible of Ragnar except his legs hanging over the side of the roof, one foot still swinging lazily. He had apparently lain back on his back to look at the sky.
“Peculiar,” murmured Sigrid, shading her eyes with her hand for a closer look.
“What’s that?” asked Aylwen over her shoulder.
“Nothing!” called Sigrid. But, then she added, pointing in Ragnar’s direction. “The young man on the roof seems to be taking a nap.”
Aylwen stopped and also shaded her eyes to look in the direction of the inn’s roof. “Hmm,” she said finally. “I hope he’s not ill. We’ll have a dickens of a time getting him down from there if he is.”
“Oh!” Sigrid covered her mouth with her hand. It had never occurred to her that Ragnar might be ill, perhaps from the smoke. After all, he had worked awfully hard up there all by himself to prevent the roof from alighting. But then her eyes returned to the languidly swinging foot. No, she decided, he’s actually loafing. Looking around at the distress and confusion that still filled the inn yard, she felt a surge of irritation. There was still so much to be done in the aftermath of the fire. He had quite a nerve to be loafing. And not just loafing. Conspicuously loafing. Especially after the way he had glared at her for breaking the pace for just a few seconds on the bucket line.
Frowning, Sigrid turned and jogged a few steps to catch up with Aylwen, who, by then, had nearly reached the charred remains of the stable. Just then, the wind changed direction and the stench of burned horseflesh struck her nostrils full force. Sigrid stopped in her tracks. Instinctively, she dropped a hand toward the dog, who stuck her cold nose into Sigrid’s palm. She couldn’t go any farther. The place smelled like death. Feeling suddenly light-headed, Sigrid dropped her little bundle of clothes and sat down on it, wrapping one arm around the shaggy black and white shoulders of her dog. She had been to the site of another fire, years ago when she was just a little girl. It had been her uncle’s place. The smell had been the same...she didn’t want to think about it...
Sigrid thought she was going to be sick. Lowering her head, she tried not to breathe the foul air. She would breathe again when the wind shifted.
|