Eadric listened intently to the mysterious woman speaking his native language with a hint of a Cumbrian accent. He assumed she was one of the Celtic peoples who lived in the area, which made sense if he had washed up in Tearmann as she explained. The language of the Northumbrian Celts was familiar to him as someone who grew up on the fringes of the Pennines. Having spent his youth working in the stables of the trading center of Anson, he had learned to speak the language in childhood. In deed it was his knowledge of the tongue that helped him to find patronage with Bishop Eanberht of Hexham. The Bishop was keen to expand his diocese into the foothills to the south if at all possible – and that would be easiest to accomplish with native speakers at the head of his retinue. That was a fact that Eadric knew better to explain to her, though.<br/><br/>It took all of his concentration to focus on the dimly lit room around him.  He blinked a few times until he could see her clearly and had sufficiently gathered his wits about him. Finally he replied to her in a heavily accented version of her native tongue with a sensible yet pained tone of voice.<br/><br/>“Well, I am happy – but surprised – to still be among the living. I’d like to put off meeting my maker for as long as possible,” he added with a dry smirk, suggesting that the Christian God would be not pleased to meet this particular member of his flock.<br/><br/>“I know of Tearmann while I have not visited here before. Thank you for letting me know about my horse. He is much more than just a mount – he is, well, closer to being an old friend.”<br/><br/>Before Eadric could elaborate she asked if he could move. Realizing the seriousness of the question he turned his attention to wiggling his toes and moving his legs, which he was able to do. He then proceeded to shrug his shoulders and lift his arms.<br/><br/>“Mercifully I can move,” he explained, “but if I lift my head I become dizzy and sick. Are you one of the healers? Is that… well… how bad is that?” he asked with genuine concern. “Also, are you the one to rescue me? And how… how was I saved?” he asked with a puzzled expression.<br/><br/>“Wait,” he asked with a furrowed brow, “where are my manners? I am Eadric of Anson,” he said weakly. “I was tracking a criminal who fled into your lands from Hexham. May I ask your name, or should I call you<span style="font-style: italic">Engelic</span>?” he asked with a weak smile, referring the Saxon word for ‘angel’. “For even without wings and with my wits about me - you still appear to me as an angel would,” he added with as much charm as he could muster in his condition.