[Folwren]

Athwen was thankful that she didn’t have to ride back, slowly, with the wounded. Had she been appointed the position of staying with them, she would have obeyed without question or murmur, but to ride ahead, running, trotting, cantering at will, or going slowly and gently when necessary, seemed in itself to comfort her. She didn’t know how, nor why, but it did.

She was riding to Osmod’s right, and Dorran was her companion. They rode parallel with each other with a couple yards’ lengths in between. At first, they were silent as they rode forward, sobered by the morning funeral, and (at least on Athwen’s part) dampened by the grey sky. But, as the morning passed on, the clouds began to break apart and blue could be glimpsed here and there. Long streams of sunlight poured down and the world was brightened in their eyes.

Athwen looked up and her hope rose upon seeing the clean, bright light. She glanced sideways towards Dorran and then closed the space between them to a few feet.

‘You don’t think we’ll be meeting any more Easterling’s do you? I’m not sure how many were left by the time they finally left us alone. Do you know?’

‘There weren’t very many, I don’t believe,’ Dorran answered. Athwen paused a moment. She didn’t really want to pursue that topic. There were other things to talk about, and one thing in particular was pressing in Athwen’s mind.

‘Dorran,’ she said, slowly and half timidly. ‘Tell me about your sister. You said she and you were the only ones to escape after. . .after that. I would like to know what she’s like.’