sayin’ the Western March is emptied, that is …”
“It had better hope to be very strong, if it is to get by us,” Wulfstan riposted firmly, hearing the great anxiety beneath the man’s words. His own chest heaved as he brought the iron headed pick-axe overhead, and slammed it forcefully into the ground, throwing up several substantial chunks of dirt.
The men spoke with the relaxed familiarity that came from long years of association and interaction together. None of them had ever been so far away from their home villages, but their shared past and current experiences strengthened their bonds even further.
The Saxan ranks had continued to swell considerably over the past couple of days, as large numbers of the new arrivals were put immediately to work on defenses surrounding the principle Saxan encampment.
Wulfstan was glad for the hard labor, as it gave them all something to do to pass the time and hold their deep unease at bay. Most of the men had never seen more than a handful of people gathered together, hundreds at the most. The presence of so many thousands was a bewildering sight to most levy men, looking as if the entire world was coming together in one location.
For his own part, Wulfstan was slowly working to grow used to the presence of so many people in one place. It was certainly staggering to consider the vast sights around him.
Whatever others were feeling, he knew that his own state of mind had definitely been cast awry, as his recurring dream had been coming back to him on a nightly basis. The visions of destruction and flight towards the heavens continued to permeate his mind, feeling so real that he often woke up in cold sweats, with a racing heart.
Leaning on the rough wooden shaft of the pick, he looked up at the sky. With echoes of his dreams resounding in his mind, Wulfstan almost expected to see a peculiar, and conspicuous, layer of something like a cloudmass far, far above, of the purest white radiance.
“They’ll get by you for sure, dreaming while awake,” jibed the first man with a chuckle, snapping Wulfstan out of his reverie.
“It is a nice day for such,” the second man remarked.
Wulfstan smiled, heaving the pick back up to his shoulder. “Okay, I’m guilty, you all caught me. I’m getting back to work now, if you do not mind.”
He swung the pick again with renewed force, feeling the strength unleash through the muscles of his arms, shoulders and back. Ultimately and in truth, there was little else to do, other than await the certain approach of the enemy.
“You’d face an army by yourself, says I,” the first man uttered, chuckling and shaking his head as he glanced at the stout-hearted warrior.
“And what is that?” queried the second, older man, a curious lilt to his tone of voice. He rested the head of his own pick-ax on the ground, and peered out towards the plain in front of them, squinting.
“You’d better not take another break, Cenwald. Your bones are not that old. Even if you always try to make us think so. Nobody believes it during the plowing time at the village back home. We all know you are one of the best hunters and all … and I …” the first speaker started to say.
His jovial smile faded as fast as his words, as his own eyes rose upward and gazed out. His attention was drawn suddenly in the direction of the west, towards where Cenwald was staring.
Wulfstan followed their gazes, seeing the trepidation spreading on their faces. Out on the very edge of their vision, the men beheld the distant, swift movement of several horsemen who were circling about on the open plain to the northwest. The horsemen had just crested the low, long slope of a distant rise. It took no expert amongst them to immediately recognize that the horsemen were of a foreign nature.
The horses moved with speed and grace, flowing in harmony across the grassy plain. They looked to be smaller of build than any horses that the village men had seen before.
Overall, there
“It had better hope to be very strong, if it is to get by us,” Wulfstan riposted firmly, hearing the great anxiety beneath the man’s words. His own chest heaved as he brought the iron headed pick-axe overhead, and slammed it forcefully into the ground, throwing up several substantial chunks of dirt.
The men spoke with the relaxed familiarity that came from long years of association and interaction together. None of them had ever been so far away from their home villages, but their shared past and current experiences strengthened their bonds even further.
The Saxan ranks had continued to swell considerably over the past couple of days, as large numbers of the new arrivals were put immediately to work on defenses surrounding the principle Saxan encampment.
Wulfstan was glad for the hard labor, as it gave them all something to do to pass the time and hold their deep unease at bay. Most of the men had never seen more than a handful of people gathered together, hundreds at the most. The presence of so many thousands was a bewildering sight to most levy men, looking as if the entire world was coming together in one location.
For his own part, Wulfstan was slowly working to grow used to the presence of so many people in one place. It was certainly staggering to consider the vast sights around him.
Whatever others were feeling, he knew that his own state of mind had definitely been cast awry, as his recurring dream had been coming back to him on a nightly basis. The visions of destruction and flight towards the heavens continued to permeate his mind, feeling so real that he often woke up in cold sweats, with a racing heart.
Leaning on the rough wooden shaft of the pick, he looked up at the sky. With echoes of his dreams resounding in his mind, Wulfstan almost expected to see a peculiar, and conspicuous, layer of something like a cloudmass far, far above, of the purest white radiance.
“They’ll get by you for sure, dreaming while awake,” jibed the first man with a chuckle, snapping Wulfstan out of his reverie.
“It is a nice day for such,” the second man remarked.
Wulfstan smiled, heaving the pick back up to his shoulder. “Okay, I’m guilty, you all caught me. I’m getting back to work now, if you do not mind.”
He swung the pick again with renewed force, feeling the strength unleash through the muscles of his arms, shoulders and back. Ultimately and in truth, there was little else to do, other than await the certain approach of the enemy.
“You’d face an army by yourself, says I,” the first man uttered, chuckling and shaking his head as he glanced at the stout-hearted warrior.
“And what is that?” queried the second, older man, a curious lilt to his tone of voice. He rested the head of his own pick-ax on the ground, and peered out towards the plain in front of them, squinting.
“You’d better not take another break, Cenwald. Your bones are not that old. Even if you always try to make us think so. Nobody believes it during the plowing time at the village back home. We all know you are one of the best hunters and all … and I …” the first speaker started to say.
His jovial smile faded as fast as his words, as his own eyes rose upward and gazed out. His attention was drawn suddenly in the direction of the west, towards where Cenwald was staring.
Wulfstan followed their gazes, seeing the trepidation spreading on their faces. Out on the very edge of their vision, the men beheld the distant, swift movement of several horsemen who were circling about on the open plain to the northwest. The horsemen had just crested the low, long slope of a distant rise. It took no expert amongst them to immediately recognize that the horsemen were of a foreign nature.
The horses moved with speed and grace, flowing in harmony across the grassy plain. They looked to be smaller of build than any horses that the village men had seen before.
Overall, there
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