“Once or twice,” the Rat-eater said. “There are lots of trees and rocks.” He appeared sincerely convinced that this detailed description would be of value to her.

He was peering over his shoulder now; if he was not already so drained of his colorful humors, he would have been seen to pale in his epiphany. He had realized, at last, that as he stood, in his current predicament, he was volunteering to become a raider, and to earn [i]oníðingr[/i] status through blood, steel, and the salt of the crooning sea. Strangely this prospect did not excite him much—mayhap he had acclimated to hermeticism, and in fact had grown quite fond of all the privacy and silence he commanded all for himself—but as he tried to push back through the crowd, he found that he could not.

“Oh—oh, dear.”

The people behind him prevented his escape. Like a finger-trap toy, he could enter but not leave, not without great struggle. And suddenly it was already too late [i]to[/i] leave, for Fjalfar had thrown out his arms in a great embrace for all his saviors.

“Today the ship is packed and loaded. Tomorrow she raises her sail, and embarks for the kingdom of the Franks!”

Probably too few people cheered, clapped, and otherwise [i]celebrated[/i] for Ásdís’ tastes; for Hrífa it was far too many. The cruel reality had struck him that he just made an oath, and to break it might earn him a proper outlawry, ousted from his little home in the woods, driven away from all his animal friends! As most of the crowds left, the [i]heroes[/i] were ordered to stay, and meet their new captain.

“Well, I was good with a spear once,” Hrífa said to his new friend. His smile was not very assuring, but he clearly seemed eager to take his situation in stride.