Horsa struggled through the deep snow, sheets of ice stung as it rained down from the heavens like sparks from the smith's hammer. He leaned into the wind and continued moving. The effort put more of a soreness into his legs than when he had first learned to ride a horse as a child, how his legs hurt for days after those lessons. Horsa eventually stopped to recapture his breath. He was nearly ready to collapse in the snow when he caught sight of a yellow glow barely visible through the grey of the vicious storm. He knew it must be a dwelling, and the thought of shelter gave him the rush of energy he needed to move forward. He gathered the last of his strength and shuffled onward through the howling winds. He hoped that word of his escape from Vortigern's fyrd had not yet reached this far north of the kingdom, as he was in desperate need of lodging and rest. He would have been proclaimed an out law by this point, and every sellsword would be on the lookout for a stranger of his description, with his weight in silver as reward to help motivate his capture.
Horsa eventually approached close enough to the dwelling that he could make out that it was a small brugh, but could not see much else in the darkness. A fire burned inside, and its glow was the beacon that lead guided him through the snow-white winds. Not wanting to startle the owners he called out to them: 'Hello the house!' He coughed and his voice cracked. His throat was dry and his lips badly burned from exposure. 'I am a weary traveler in need of shelter from this dreadful storm!' He waited a moment. It felt like an eternity... Nothing. So he called out again. 'Hello the house!' He could hear the sound of dogs barking. This time the door swung open and the silhouette of a female figure filled the threshold, backlit by the fire burning in the little home's hearth. Wonderful, he thought, my pleading has not gone unnoticed. Then, as suddenly as the door opened and the figure appeared, it was slammed shut and he was again on the lonely side of the door.
Horsa stumbled into the snow, nearly disappeared in its depth, and was about to call out once more when the door opened once again. This time a male figure appeared. The man closed the door behind him to keep the weather out of his home and the dogs inside, and then came steadily forward. The chubby figure approached Horsa and gripped his arm, helping him to his feet. The man said something, but his words were lost, drowned out by the screaming winds.
They made it to the house and the man balled his fist and pounded on the door; it rattled under the weight of his fist. 'Let us in woman, is bloody fucking cold out here! My sack has shriveled like dried fruit!' The door swung open, the men were let inside by the female figure, and the door closed with a clatter behind them. Inside, two hunting dogs jumped and barked at Horsa's feet. 'Down, boy. Down, girl... Both of you, down damn't!' The two beautiful white and brindle hunting dogs heeled to the sound of their master's voice, as the two men entered the brugh.
'What in the name of Christ all mighty are you doing waddling about in the wilderness in this weather,' the man questioned Horsa in a somewhat scolding tone. 'This is the sort of storm that will kill a man, even one who wear's a fine coat such as you,' the man said as he wiped a crust of ice off of Horsa's shoulders.
'I beg your forgiveness for my intrusion this night, but as you can see, I was in a desperate state. My gratitude to you both, for bringing into your warm hall.'
'Yeah, well I didn't want to have to deal with your stinking corpse come spring's thaw, so better to let ya in, feed and warm you, and then send you on your way.
Who are you, stranger? The red bearded man furrowed his bewildered brow and waited for an answer.
Horsa lied and said that he was called Eardstapa. 'In your Briton tongue, I am called Land Stepper. I am just a wanderer,' his teeth chattered a bit as he spoke. He did not want the people of this land to know that he was part of an invading force sent to rid Vortigern's northern frontier of the Painted People, not knowing where the sympathies of these folk rested. He especially did not want his hosts to know that he was a chieftain in his homeland or that he was a possible fugitive in theirs.
Ok, Land Stepper, come ye over to my fire and warm those bones. My name is Barri and the lady is my wife, Breena. Just know that if you have a mind toward harming us or stealing from us, that I strike a powerful blow with an ax, and as you have seen, there is a vast wilderness in which your pieces can be scattered, fed to wolves, and you will be forgotten.' Barri tried to appear menacing as he cautioned the stranger against any wrongdoing.
'Aye,' Land Stepper responded. 'You will have no trouble from me, only my deepest gratitude for taking me into your home. Hel surly would have had me as her guest tonight if you had taken me in as yours.' Land Stepper knew, anyway, that if it came to blows, he could easily crush Barri, especially after he regained his strength. But in this moment, they were friends. Time would be needed to tell otherwise.
Come over here by the fire and warm yer frostbitten bones,' Barri said as he lead Land Stepper over to the fire. Land Stepper was given a stool and he sat before the roaring fire that burned in the floor at the center of the dwelling, ringed with blocks of cut stone, cobbled together with fat seams of mortar. Black iron firedogs supported a large cauldron above the coals for cooking. 'Supper has already been had, but I am sure we have something left we can offer you tonight, at least get something in ya.' Barri said.
'Breena, my dear, fetch us some beer and bread.
While Land Stepper waited by the fire he took in his surroundings; it was quite different from the dragon-gabbled, timber halls of his homeland, he noted. The bulk of the structure was made of wattle and straw, tightly woven and packed solid with earth. He didn't know how it withstood the relentless winds, which easily felled ancient, deeply rooted trees and splintered their boughs as an ax breaks a shield. Once inside he could barely sense the powerful winter storm that raged outside, which to him was a testament to its craftsmanship. Land Stepper reasoned that his host must be a skilled tradesman, familiar with stone and woodcraft.
The house interior was not like any he had previously laid eyes upon, with certain luxuries not found in the timbered halls of his beloved homeland, though he was a chieftain and lived in great comfort. The one-room dwelling was all a single open space, softly rounded in shape, with no real corners to speak of. From wall to wall stretched a floor made from ancient slate tiles, dull grey, deeply worn, a testament to a time long forgotten. Some of the tiles were broken and mended with mortar. Richly colored rugs were situated neatly throughout the house, pinned down by chairs, a brightly polished table, and the family bed, where they offered a soft surface for the bare foot to fall upon.
One other luxury that was made apparent to Land Stepper was the window at the front of the dwelling, which was made from a brittle solid called glass. Land Stepper knew only of glass from stories told to him as a child of the great kingdom the Rómánisc people built; sweeping cities that in their age sparked in the light of Apollo, but where now nothing but ruin and decay, consumed first by scavengers and then forgotten by all but time. The people of this land, who once lived under the banner of the Eagle, collected what building materials they could from abandoned villas that were once home to Roman magistrates. They gathered such rarities like glass and marble, and used them to build their own homes or sold them to those who had the coin.
Breena had been watching curiously as the stranger sat by the fire and warmed his out-stretched hands. There was something odd about him. He looked quite different from men she had encountered before, and when he was able to stand, he was quite tall. He wore a hooded, fur-lined overcoat, which obscured his visage somewhat. She kept trying to glimpse his face, but all she could really see was that he had a long brown beard, braided and decorated with silver rings, and frozen solid from exposure. He also sounded funny to her when he spoke, obviously a foreigner, Breena thought.
Breena did as Barri asked as quickly as she could so that she could return to observing the stranger, and wondering about the man beneath the coat. It was not everyday they hosted a guest, and she found herself increasingly curious of him. She spilled some of the ale in her haste. 'Breena, you bungler, have you never poured ale before', Barri snapped. 'I am sorry, dear. I am just trying to get our guest his drink as quickly as possible, for it may very well be his last if you do not get him thawed out. How about fetch'n him a blanket,' she responded under her breath. Breena set the ale and a plate of bread out on the table, and then she then pulled two chairs out where Barri and Land Stepper were to sit.
Barri helped Land Stepper remove the fur overcoat he wore. Nearly frozen solid, it was stiff and looked as though it still contained a person as it hit the floor with a frosty crunch. As the coat came off, Barri noticed Land Stepper's silver-hilted sword girdled around his waist. 'I will be needing you to hand over that weapon, Land Stepper, if you want to bed here with us.' He said as he held his hand out. 'You will get it back when you are through with your stay here.'
'I understand, and I offer no resistance.' Land Stepper ungirdled his sword and Barri carried it away and put it in a chest. Before he locked it away he hesitated, the runes carved into the leather and the jewel studded handle caught his eye. He knew it immediately as being the work of Heathen people. He examined it a moment, impressed in its craftsmanship, and then he locked it away without another look. Land Stepper noticed Barri examine the blade before he stored it, and silently he hoped that it did not provoke any suspicion about who he was. He did not want to have to kill these people, nor did he especially favor the idea of hurting the woman.
