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Osmod had help to set up the funeral pyre and to place Rædwald on top of it. It was not a job he relished, but it was the least he could do for such a good man. He could not, however, be the one to lit fire to the wood. He thought about volunteering himself but a sudden bout anguish stopped him short. What he had done so far and his prayers would have to suffice. As the pyre was lit, Osmod thought a silent prayer for his fallen friend, asking the gods to let him into the halls of those who had died with honour. Perhaps Rædwald had not been a great general nor he had won many battles, but he had fallen trying to protect a friend and that was just as important. Generals may win wars, but men like Rædwald were true heroes.
After Rædwald funeral was done, it was time to go back down the hill to search the bodies. Something useful may have been gathered from there. Osmod felt sorry for the fallen, now that the heat of the battle had worn off. They were men just as him, not those beastly orcs. He wondered, while picking up a shield that seemed to be in good state, whether they would be forgiven by the gods. Maybe they didn’t know any better.
Weary and still aching, he made his way back to the camp. He had only gathered a shield and a waterskin, as his had been punctured by a lance. He looked at his horse’s wounds quickly but decided to keep him saddled. They would probably be leaving shortly anyway.
Walking over to Brand he asked him in a low tone of voice.
“I know I have not been acting much as a leader, not with Sythric bossing me around anyway, but I still feel responsible for my group of riders. And well… even if we just met I feel responsible for you all as well.”
He shifted his weight around, feeling slightly uncomfortable disclosing his thoughts to a stranger.
“ I know we must make haste, but any success we may find at the Golden Hall will be marred if we loose one of our group to exhaustion or if we ride ourselves to the ground. We can’t leave anyone behind with the Easterlings still prowling around, but let those of us who are healthy take the lead. The rest can follow as fast as they can manage.”
Searching through his saddlebag, Osmod produced his family’s horn. He had forgotten about it during the skirmish.
“Take this if you want, to alert us of any danger that may befall you. Perhaps Leod and Meghan can stay with you to help should anyone’s wounds worsen. Eostre, Dorran, Fion and I will ride ahead and we’ll have the night’s camp ready for when you arrive. I know it is our duty to make to Edoras as fast as we can, but by chance or destiny we have been forced to deal with adversity. Death prowls close, Brand, she will take each of us if we give her a chance.”
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