[Undómë]

Bregoware

Meghan eyed the men, or that is the majority of the men as Rædwald still rode by her, who were now clumped together like ticks on a dog. There were two of them, at first, Osmod and Sythric. With Sythric talking quite seriously to the younger man. And then up came Fionn. She rather liked him; he was still boyish enough to make her smile with his ingenuous manner. Still, he was a male, and soon he would be sucked into that great brotherhood of males around which she might only stand quite prettily and quite demurely staring in.

And then of course, there was Eostre. And sometimes she almost envied the woman her fierceness. Meghan dug deep in herself and could not find an answering strain. Sure, she shepherded her little herd about and kept them safe as she could. But who was she fooling with her thinking that she could ride with such . . .

She looked hard at the group of men, her brow furrowing, searching for an image on which to pin her thoughts. Eagles. That was it. Great birds of war, all big and majestic, clear eyed and so sure of themselves.

And what was it that Rædwald and Sythric had called her. Ah, yes . . . magpie, and sparrow. Bothersome birds, the both of them. And who would think to put such a small creature among heroes. Certainly none of the tales told about the fire she’d heard had ever featured such.

‘Ash,’ she whispered, leaning low over her mount’s neck, ‘you should have nipped me hard on the leg the moment I mounted you. Woken me from this dream that I might indeed be equal to the task.’ You’ve been a fool, Meghan! she chided herself, straightening up in the saddle. Better to make the right decision now, before the river is crossed, before you become nothing more than a liability.

Rædwald’s horse nickered and bumped lightly against her boot. Meghan flicked her eyes toward Rædwald, noting with a certain irritated alarm that he seemed to be scrutinizing her. She cocked her head at those riding at the front of their little group. ‘Shouldn’t you be up there? Discussing strategy and such?’ she asked in a somewhat peevish manner. She waved him away from her, slapping his horse on the hindquarters to drive him off. ‘Go talk of plans and important matters with your fellows. I’ll hear no more of suitable husbands and first borns. My head is aching already from your idle chatter.’

She stopped her horse completely, watching as he and the others drew further ahead.