DREAM OF ME, sihtric & finan

9. the reunion

CHAPTER NINE; the reunion ( part one )

        Peter's feet were sinking in the wet mud as he leaned his body against the hut, being careful to remain unseen with his right hand carrying his sword at his side. The voices of the men on the other side of the shelter could be heard with a strain but carried enough volume for him to hear mostly word-to-word what they were saying. A worry of fight was not something they fussed with. 

It was when his head turned the small side of the open window that he managed to get a peek of one of them, being careful with his weight — a tall, dark-long haired men stood closest to see, a sword with a stone at the end of it's hilt strapped to his back. There was nothing familiar about him. 

He was a Dane. Peter would not be familiar with one who was a Dane if not Tova. 

But the other man he had a good view of, with darker hair that was cut short, had a necklace with a cross around his neck. He was a Christian. Or at the very least, he believed in Peter's God to carry a form of guidance and protection around. 

There was a third. Peter heard him speak, but could not see him. But there were four horses, so there must be four men. Another was around somewhere.

Pulling his body back against the hut, Peter gripped his sword a little tighter. He hoped Tova had stayed where she was this once. Because he wouldn't win against four and she'd need to stay hidden. With Rorik. 

Rorik.

When he took another glimpse through the window, he saw that the men were talking a little more huddled together. And their — Rorik's blankets — on the poor cot. They'd need them with bad weather approaching. 

Slowly walking around the hut again, his body low and continued to be tucked against the wall, Peter tried to spot the fourth man. Or the third. To compare their builds. To calculate who'd be the easiest to match. Wouldn't matter all that much to Tova, she'd use her speed and smaller build to her advantage as she always did. 

He knew then that she wouldn't stay hidden. 

She was looking over toward him when he stopped by the edge of the wall, shoulder pressed by the wood as he waited for the men to exit. Slowly, Peter shook his head, hoping she got the message to keep herself out of sight and out of mind for them. 

Stay there with Rik. He was trying to say with his eyes. He hoped his face screamed it loud and clear. 

Tova glanced down to her son in her arms, pressing him further into her before lifting her head again, giving her own motion for her friend to stay where he was. 

Leaning his head back, disappearing completely from her eyesight, Peter sighed, unsure of what to do. They could wait the four men out, but what if they took shelter? They needed to leave, and sooner rather than later. 

And if he served as a distraction, his friend and her son could flee. But would she? 

Peter was only fooling himself with believing Tova would leave him to die. . . or perhaps he wasn't. There was Rorik to take account of.

It was at that moment, he was unsure of her. He didn't know her well enough to be able to calculate what she'd do. Only what he hoped she would do, which was not enough. 

They would have to find fur from elsewhere, Peter decided. That way — all three of them would be fine and no bloodshed was needed. His fingers pulled on his necklace and he gripped his cross, muttering a prayer as he moved to turn the way he had came from.