As the village gathered, Freyhild could finally take a moment to sit down and rest, watching them from afar. They were a small village, all the faces were at least familiar. That way she could see that every group that stood there, eating and chatting, had people missing. Family members, friends, fellow craftsmen. She liked how the village held together, the builders worked not on just their own houses, but helped anyone who needed to; Freyhild had no idea how she would get her roof and holes in the walls fixed on her own. Kjotve always took care of that kind of thing. She chased away a memory of him swinging his hammer, singing a worn-out song in an incredibly lousy tone. She didn’t want to think about his smile now.

The dragons seemed to be omnipresent, sniffing around empty bowls, stealing a bite or two out of those still full, carelessly set aside by their owners. It was surprising how quickly the people got used to them being around. Freyhild wondered what the dragons would do if the attackers followed them here. Would they fight and protect them? Or would they just disappear and wait who would win, coming back later to sniff around [i]their[/i] bowls? Dark thoughts for such a nice day. Freyhild frowned, she found out it helped her to fight the tears off.

When Hog Morsan came to talk to her, Freyhild bowed her head in respect. “Thank you, but it is just a stew. It can hardly be called a miracle. The people are working hard, I figured they needed a proper hot meal to keep their strength.” But it was satisfying to look at. “It would have been done a lot faster if it weren’t for all these damn dragons getting in the way,” she grumbled.