August 915, Near Stromness, Orkney Islands

Staring at each other for what seemed an eternity, neither Fursa nor Hrothgar did anything more than hold their respective ground.

"Drighten, we can subdue the witch, if you...." said one of the gathered crowd behind Hrothgar.

Roused by the words, Hrothgar continued to gaze upon Fursa. He didn't know her name, but he didn't need to. She was a vision, even bristled for battle as she was. Not letting his eyes leave her face, he spoke up in a voice that seemed to brook no argument "Hold. Leave her be. She will decide for herself who she goes with." With that simple speech, spoken in the Old Norse that he guessed that she must know, he lowered his axe and took a step backward, offering the smallest of bows of respect. He turned to the others and told them to make camp.

Fursa stood there stunned.

The whole of her world had changed...again.

March 2009, Somewhere in Torpor

Eyes wide open, stunned by a revelation so simple that she had missed it for most all of her existence, Fursa lay absolutely alone. Present and unmovable, the stake rose from her chest. The dim was still out there, yet she no longer saw it. Staring skyward in the darkness, blood tears welled up in her eyes and ran down her face, her still paralyzed body splayed out over the pile of bones she had landed in.

Mid August, 915, Near Stromness, Orkney Islands

Fursa stood on the deck of the dragonship as the only home she had ever known faded into distance. Detached from her feelings, she realized that there was nothing left there, save for memories. Aed had chosen to death over leaving behind his dear Freydis, dying in his sleep much as she had. They buried him next to her and wished him safe travel on the Helroad.

Hrothgar had been there and helped with the labor. He was never far from her. She had been promised to Helgi and thought herself incapable of wanting another. How things could change in the blink of an eye.

Gil had been adopted and she could see him on the next ship over of the fleet of 3. By the time she had recovered her brains and coaxed him out of the gorse thicket, it getting toward dark. One of the several thanes, a portly man by the name of Dof, had lost his own boy to fever in the previous winter. When the man came up to speak to Hrothgar, he had caught the interest of the five year old with some honey cakes that he seemed to have in endless supply. It wasn't long before the two were close and laughing together. Both were better for it.

She traded and bargained with them for several days. Most of what was left held some value to the crews of the boats. Tools and weapons, salvaged boxes and household goods, especially clay pots brought silver to her purse. The remains from the decimated settlement were now commodities to be traded far and wide by these men. The idea that some of it might get used again brought her a small comfort.

Most of the remaining animals were butchered to feed the crew, men who were tired of a steady diet of dried fish and seaweed. For herself she kept one cow, a hen, and her chicks, along with most of the stored food and her personal belongings. Hrothgar had insisted upon it. The old sea chest that had been her father's kept her few precious things, especially her hoarded berries. Two other less elaborate chests held bundles of this and that, clothes, and the few hand tools that were hers. All had been packed into the boat by Hrothgar himself.

What remained of her life sat in boxes and bundles around her. A gust of wind filled the large square sail and the boat lurched for an instant, nearly sending her to the deck. She absently grabbed the spear and used it to steady herself. It was going to take time to get proper sea legs--no time like the present.

When she finally pulled her eyes from the receding shore, an inadvertant glance brought her eye to eye with the drighten again. She felt self conscious, and so did he, when they caught themselves staring like that. He smiled a little, as did she, and then he took her hand and guided her to the rudder arm where he stood.

That alone caused speculations to run wild among the crew. It was to be a trip full of them.

Out of the darkness. Out of the dim that penetrated everywhere and everything it came. An unknown power flooded into her and her surroundings. The landscape glowed and the literal mountains of bones were cast in eerie bluish hues and shadows. The scent of blood came with it, but it was so much more than expected that the influx swept her up before she could react. Flooded head to toe, the energy flowed through her, lighting her mind, and soul with it's burning sensation.

If she could have screamed, she would have.

Torn between her tears and her pain, she wanted only to escape. Blinking hard several times, desperate for her focus, all she could see was the red-brown shaft of wood that pinned her in place. It was then that her arms, ever so slowly, moved from where they lay toward the stake.

His hand over hers, she looked ahead to the east. The future, whatever it held, lay ahead of her, somewhere beyond the horizon. She had a feeling that Hrothgar was part of that future, whether they had intended it or not. He was never far from her, especially now that they were on this boat.

It was that night, after the rudder had been given over another, that Fursa sat down amid her pile of posessions that she stared out on the faintly moonlit water and sighed. It was then that she heard someone coming close and she bundled herself against the light chill of the night air. She knew it was Him.

Hrothgar's soft voice could be heard just over the lapping of the water against the wooden hull. The boat was otherwise quiet. All he said was "Are you well, Fursa?"

Looking out over the water again, she didn't answer, at least, not at first. Then, she realized that things were as they should be, and that this man behind her was part of what was to come, somehow.

"Saeme." she said, on impulse, giving him a piece of herself. "My mother called me Saeme."

The dreamscape shook and thundered around her as the strange and frightening power continued to roar within and without her. The blood smell was so much stronger that the coppery-metallic savor coated the inside of her mouth. The essence she tasted the hope, and the apprehension, and the devotion of the giver. Unspeakably pure and yet a dark mystery, the strange energies resonated within her.

Point of contact. A weak response--the desire for this to end. The maelstrom raged on as she forced her arms onward toward the shaft that jutted skyward. Exhaustion took a toll, and especially when the energy began to fade. One hand grasped the wood while the other fell limp to her side.

It was then in her helplessness and amid her paralyzed sobs that she heard the voice. A quiet whispering sound that would have been missed, had it not been so utterly silent. "Saeme. Hear me. Your husband calls out to you. Come back to me, I beg of you. I understand, at least a small part, and I have so much to tell you."

Spent, with no more to give, tears fell from her eyes to join the others that somehow had never dried. She didn't have the strength for another attempt, only the silent prayer that Hrothgar would wait for her, wherever he was.