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As the discussion over the breakfast table broke up at Coenred's bidding, Scyld also excused himself from the table. He paid little attention to the interplay between Scyrr and Léof – Scyld already knew Scyrr to be a troublemaker and Léof to be over-sensitive. An amusing combination, really, but Scyld was more interested now in the reactions of those he knew less well.
Much of the hall was nearing completion, but still some projects remained. Scyld knew that several of the soldiers would be outside working on the shelter for the sheep pen, so he too headed in that direction. What might the soldiers be saying out of earshot of the original Scarburgians and the authorities? Of course, Scyld himself came originally from Eodwine's household, but he had shown himself sympathetic to the new soldiers. Scyld had learned early on that it was best not to take sides before it was clear which side would win out.
The air outside was brisk and cold; though the sun was shining, it gave off little heat so late in the year. Once he began working, though, Scyld knew he would warm up. He wasn't sure what he would do once the hall was finished. Sorn seemed scarcely remembered here, not even a year after Eodwine's household had moved in. He scarcely knew what he was doing now. Prying, information gathering – but for what? The stakes were hardly so high now as they once had been. He shrugged off that dismal train of thought as he approached the half-finished sheep pen. One could never know too little.
Several soldiers were just beginning work as he arrived: Hilderinc, Aforglaed, Quin, and Hylath. “Good morning,” he said as he walked up, though he had already seen a couple of them at breakfast. The soldiers greeted him in return, and Scyld fell into work beside them. After a few minutes, he found himself standing next to young Quin. Judging from breakfast, Scyld thought he might be the easiest to get talking. “Bit of a shocker what Léof said about Athanar leaving, wasn't it?” he asked.
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