Hrífa made no preparations in the way of patterns painted on his body with woad and yarrow dyes, and certainly no sacrifices offered to the golden tongues which licked voraciously at his firewood, knowing well that he wished not to taint his visions with biases; neither his own hopes nor the gods' favor then would skew them. Regardless, as he laid himself down that evening, he welcomed any dreams which might beset him from the great dark.

None came. Not knowing whether to feel relieved or dread-stricken, he chose not to dwell on it, trying, if rather in vain, to place his faith in the Weavers sat at the foot of Yggdrasil. Although they knew well what course the man's path would take, he, [i]only[/i] a man, blind to their designs, could only worry, and wonder.

When he returned to the village, of the few who walked about (with no fields to till and no sports to play, enough men let their sleep carve well into the morning, and their women let them), most were gathered at the dock, and Hrífa wondered if they'd set off to the cheers and songs reserved for heroes. Would such songs be only for particular members? If Valhöll could hear these songs, would they Óðinn and his [i]einherjar[/i] slice them up and distribute their blessings accordingly to the intended recipients? The witch hoped he would be near enough to these heroes to catch some of the residue which would splash off them if it was so; he knew no songs were sung for him.

He seemed assaulted by a great worm as he came forth, but it was his sleeping-bag, stuffed with his belongings and carried with a fist cinching the mouth. Encouraged by the sight of the village, he limbs were stuffed again with vigor, and he picked up his pace toward the ship, hoping to save one of the better seats for himself. Evidently one might give him a better view from the deck, or give his bum fewer splinters.[hr][center][i]Meanwhile ...[/i][/center][hr]Hralding had climbed the ship's prow, carved in the semblance of a scowling snake, and as he devoted some lazy thought toward keeping his balance, the rest of him was down with the people, watching the goings-on of the land. He shivered a little, having shed his fur-lined cloak down in the hull; he watched in angry futility especially as parents pleaded with their children to come home. There were more sailors than oars, and he'd ordered that they work it out amongst themselves who would not be coming. He had "warriors" in excess, but of these abundances, few who could actually [i]fight[/i], to himself he sighed!