[Envinyatar]

Just before the sun was up, Aldwulf rose from his damp bedroll on the ground. He could not decide which was worse, the swarms of tiny no-seeum bugs, or the ever present damp that seeped into everything.

Awyrgan had a small fire going, and Aldwulf gathered a small armful of relatively dry pieces of wood to add to it. Crouching down by the side of the fire pit, he poked at the burning embers, watching the smoke rise up. The small dampness the wood did contain, sent up a cloud of smoke that held the midges at bay for the moment.

He had set out several snares last night, and daring the swarms once again he rose from the fire to check on them. One was empty, but the other two held a coney each. Barely a mouthful for the company, but the broth would prove tasty, and he had a small packet of those herbs that Awyrgan had pointed out to them when the first met.

His eye was caught by a small cluster of familiar blue flowers in the marshy ground. His gran and mother had dug beneath just such patches for those tasty tubers used for soup. He checked the area carefully – white flowers of the same size and form were heralds of poisonous roots. No – all were blue.

An hour later and he had a pot of savory broth with bits of coney and thick chunks of tuber swirling amid the herbs. The smell woke the men and soon, one by one they tumbled from their ‘beds’ to have a bowlful.

‘Where to now?’ he asked Brytta as the man plied his bowl with his wooden spoon. ‘Was there somewhere in particular we are headed? And if so, are we near?’