[littlemanpoet]

Eodwine's face went red and his hand rose, open, as if he were ready to strike his wife. It was a short moment, but seemed long as his hand was lifted, poised but still. He lowered his hand slowly and turned to the women.

"I greet you all, but not as your eorl. Forgive my willful wife."

He stumbled toward a chair and fell into it, leaning across the table on both elbows. "I need some vittles."