[Celuien]

The quiet, chill hours crept by over Sæthryd's hut. Silence had returned to the little valley, Sæthryd having ended her song before many minutes had passed. She sat quietly, staring into her fire as if lost to all save the glowing embers. But though she looked as calm as the deep forest around her, Sæthryd's thoughts were far from still.

Something snuffled in the fallen leaves, darting wildly through the undergrowth. The shadows fled before its approach to seek darker corners into which they could melt. There were whispers from the paths. Angry whispers. The shades of the dead were troubled.

Far away, there was the sound of horses galloping over an open plain. Far away, but growing nearer with every hoofbeat.

Sæthryd began to mutter. Syllables without meaning blended together in a wild jumble. Then she jumped out of her seat and ran outdoors to set her guard on the paths. Something approached. As had not happened in many years, for the hill people learned long ago to keep away from her snares. They knew well that the wild woman who had come in place of the vanished shades of the dead was more to be feared than any ghost.

Let them come. I shall be ready.