[littlemanpoet]

Eodwine faced the boys. Garmund was looking at him, hands hanging at his sides, his eyes wide; his glance slipped to the two dead outlaws.

Eodwine cleaned the dagger blades on some fallen leaves from the previous autumn, slipped them inside his belt, and knelt down by the two boys. Garmund did not flinch.

"Do you understand, Garmund, what I did, and why?" The boy nodded. "Then tell me."

"They would have killed us, and if you had not killed them, they would have tried again."

"Aye. You are a smart lad. Now, let's take a look at that ankle, Cnebba."

Eodwine felt it carefully and asked where it hurt and how much. It seemed to be either a twisted ankle or a mild sprain. He helped Cnebba to his feet and asked him to see if he could stand on it, then limp about. With much wincing the boy was able to put only a toe-hold of pressure on his ankle.

"That settles that, young man. It seems I'll be carrying you. You're not so big as you can't sit on my shoulders."

Eodwine reached down and placed Cnebba, sitting, on one of the beech tree branches, then backed up until he was under the boy, who slid down onto his shoulders. He hoped that there would not be too many low hanging branches.

They walked for a little while and could hear shouts and hollarings off behind them.

Suddenly they came out in a clearing. Five dogs, thankfully chained, started in an uproar of barking and growling, their hackles raised and their teeth bared, saliva dripping. Garmund cringed against Eodwine's leg and Cnebba's grip around his neck almost choked him. Two of the dogs were Dunlending wolfhounds by the look of them; one was big as a mastiff; one looked a wolf except for its curled tail, and the fifth was a hound with drooping ears.

Behind them, tied tight to a tree, legs bound by rope, was a woman in rough smock over a threadbare skirt. Tough boots were on her feet. Her blonde hair fell this way and that in shaggy strands, but could not hide a frankly stunning beauty of face.

"I would untie you, lady, but for these dogs!" Eodwine called. "You must be a prisoner of these outlaws!"

"Claw!" shouted the woman "Fang! Gray! Bull! Bear! Quiet! Lay down" The dogs stopped barking and their growls diminished to a bare-fanged grumble, but their tales went down and their ears back, and one by one they settled on the grass surrounding the woman.

"They obey you," Eodwine said in open surprise. "Are you a captive of these outlaws?"

She nodded. "The men are often gone, and I have won these five over. They are not vicious."

Eodwine helped Cnebba to the ground and ordered Garmund to watch over him while he untied the lady. "How long have they held you?"

"Two years, I think. They burned my father's holdings to the ground, killing everyone, and took me as their slave."

"I am sorry. What is your name?"

"I am called Rowenna."

"I hope they did not treat you too shabbily."

"They kept me well enough..." she paused, her face reddened and her eyes became hot with humiliation, but she did not look away ".... well enough for their purposes."

"Come with me away from here," Eodwine said.

"Not without these my dogs," Rowenna declared. "They will obey me instead of them."

Eodwine's eyes widened. "Will they attack whom you say?" She nodded. The mastiff looked big enough to serve as a mount for Cnebba. "Will that one bear this boy? He has a bad ankle."

"If I tell him to."