text: Dunston opened his eyes slowly, as if he were scared that the lids would ache like the rest of his body. Light lanced through the open doorway of the mound. He had not meant to sleep, but he supposed it had been foolish pride to think he would be able to stay awake for the whole night. Gone were those days of youth when he could ignore the desire for sleep and still be fresh and alert the next day.
  
  During the night, he had sat for a time, the warm weight of Aedwen's head against his leg, and his mind running ceaselessly over recent events. Like Aedwen, he had been shocked at the moon partially vanishing in the sky above them. He had seen similar before, but had never understood the meaning of such things. Omens, he supposed. But of what, who could tell? Unable to answer any of the questions swarming in his mind, he had, at last, drifted into a deep sleep.
  
  He looked down at where Aedwen slept. She had curled up on her side, resting her head on her arm now rather than his thigh. Her face was serene. Dirt smudged her cheek and her hair was dishevelled, but she slept with the carefree abandon of the young. At some point in the night she had placed her faith in him completely. He knew that she looked to him for protection and he felt acutely the weight of that responsibility. She should have stayed with Gytha. By Christ's teeth, what had Rothulf's widow been thinking? Now both he and the girl were outlawed. He would never be able to return to Briuuetone. Still, he supposed there was not much for him there now that Rothulf was gone. He could find a new place to live, somewhere in the forest where nobody would find him. He would be content to live alone, with Odin for company.
  
  With a pang of pain, he remembered that Odin was gone. He had wished to ask Aedwen about the hound the night before, but he had pushed the thought away. It was not the moment to converse. There would be time enough in the daylight for speaking, and waiting a while longer for tidings of Odin's fate would change nothing.
  
  Aedwen stirred, mumbling something under her breath before growing still once more.
  
  With an effort, Dunston pushed himself to his feet. His knee was a burning agony and his back popped and clicked painfully as he stood. To think that for a moment in the night he had thought he'd felt young again, able to fight and wield DeaÞangenga as though the last twenty summers had not passed. By God, who was he trying to fool? He gazed down for a moment at the sleeping girl. He had forced them to walk fast all night and she had done well, keeping up without complaint. Now, as his joints cracked and his muscles throbbed, he wished he had not pushed them so hard. If he was not careful, he would be the one unable to keep up the pace.
  
  He snorted, looking to his side for where Odin usually stood. He stopped his hand as he reached for where the dog's head would have been. Stupid old man. It would take him some time to grow accustomed to living without the company of the dog.
  
  Shaking his head, he moved silently to the entrance. He glanced back at Aedwen before he stepped out into the daylight. What was he to do with the girl? Perhaps he could take her to her distant kin. But where did the aunts she had mentioned live? And would they take her in if he found them?
  
  Frowning, he held his hand over his eyes and scanned the horizon. The sun was high in the sky and the day was blessedly warm and dry. Thin trails of smoke rose in the distance to the north, but there were no other signs of men.
  
  Setting off down the hill, he checked that the seax he had taken was still tucked in his belt. In his left hand he carried DeaÞangenga. His body's pains began to lessen as he walked. He would have to give some thought about what their next steps should be, but first, they needed water and something to eat. There was nothing to be gained from worrying about the problems of tomorrow.