Heva

- "Heva!" - A man called her by her name, catching her in last momen as her soft boots carried her off the iced path. Firm in his hands she smiled uncomfortably, well bundled in heavy furs and rough knee long tunic. Healers pink nose lost challenge against her cheeks and turned very red. 

His eyes watched her amused, man of renown, in fine armor, with golden braids falling over his shoulders. Instead of helm he had a soft cap, now sprinkled with snow. 

T'was a long night in Stangard, night before a battle and the Mead-hall of the village was full with bold-hearted Eorlings, from son to father and warrior to herdsman. They were invited by Dryhten. Bards were singing their songs of war and ancestors and playing on gilded lyres. The tables were lined with food and the pig roast turned over the pit, its juices falling into the fire with a sizzle. There was people sitting, standing, in corners and among the open spaces. Not a single space was empty.