[Undómë]

Bregoware

Rædwald

‘Hmmm . . .’ Rædwald chewed on the mouthpiece of his pipe. There was a soft clacking sound as he moved it from one side of his mouth to the other and then back again; the stem of it sliding over the tips of his teeth as it slipped along. ‘Other than Meghan, here, whom I’ve known since she was a wee little chicklet, the only one I’ve more or less spoken with has been Fionn. Good boy, I think. Heart’s in the right place.’ He looked over at Sythric and grinned. ‘Wants to be a Rider, you know.’ He nodded his head as if considering Fionn for a moment. ‘Thought maybe once we get to Edoras I’d recommend him to one of the outer march-wardens . . . to be trained up to ride in their company.’

‘The other two, I just don’t know well enough to make comment,’ he went on, flicking his gaze for a moment toward Meghan. ‘Tis hard to be thrown together, to accomplish some task or order, with people with whom you have no natural or long term bonds. Save of course the fact that we are all from the same threatened village.’ His glance swept round to take in the group by the fire. ‘War makes strange bedfellows,’ he murmured, half to himself. Then reconsidering who was included in his statement, he added, ‘In the least offensive sense of the word, that is. And meaning no discourtesy to the ladies, of course.’

- * -

Meghan

They sat companionably, in silence, for a while; the smoke from their pipes rising in thin streamers in the cold night air. Soon, the moon set and that curious hour just before the sun’s rising was heralded in by the few birds left who had not yet flown south to warmer climes.

Meghan rose and stretched, throwing off what weariness she could. It would be a long ride yet to the river. And then there would be the crossing of it. Meghan shivered at the thought of doing that. The Great River had been the western boundary of all her short life, and the biggest piece of water she had ever seen. She’d heard many stories of its deep currents and fierce moods. ‘I’ll just stay in the middle of the raft,’ she thought to herself, not trusting her slight skills at lake swimming to be enough for an accidental dunk in the river’s water.

Rædwald had gone back to the fire and was coaxing the flames up with his offerings of wood. Sythric, too, had ambled back to where his pack lay and had begun to roll up his bedroll. There were stirrings among the sleepers as the morning noises began to intrude on their dreams.

Taking her little reed pipe from an inside pocket of her cape, Meghan played a lively little melody to welcome the new day. Her belly growled, adding its own chorus of hunger to her song. She walked back toward the fire, where Rædwald handed her a crispy piece of snake meat that had been smoking over the banked fire. ‘Eat up and see to your things and your horse,’ he directed her. He looked to the east where the first pale rays of dawn were now creeping across the land.