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༓࿇༓
Yrsa followed the sound of shouting and cheering to the meadow where she had first met Uhtred, rubbing the sleep from her eyes as she located Hild. The nun stood with a priest, Beocca, and another soldier, Halig, both of whom had known Uhtred for longer than she had.
"What is happening?" The younger woman asked, leaning against the fence behind Hild, rubbing sleep from her eyes. She had been at their war camp for a few weeks, taking advantage of the safety and protection to keep her belly full and her body well rested. "Why is Uhtred fighting?"
"He's showing off," Hild replied, smiling at the younger girl. "For the Lady Giesla."
"He fancies her?" Father Beocca nodded at the teenager's words. "Then why does he not just say so? Would it not be simpler?"
The three adults chuckled at the teenager's naïve words. Yrsa might have more battle experience, but in knowledge of other things unrelated to war, the girl knew next to nothing.
"You will know when you start to like someone, child," Beocca nodded at Halig's words, unaware of Yrsa's scowl and the roll of her eyes. She hated being referred to as a child by the others around her, a name they had taken to calling her for her young years.
"I believe the lady feels the same," Hild pointed out, as Yrsa tilted her head and watched Giesla's facial expressions, wondering how they knew that they liked one another. Was it a defined feeling or a combination?
"They usually do. Even his scars are handsome," Beocca scowled again, as Yrsa continued to think on what they spoke of. The big man yelled, running at Uhtred, who bashed him out of the way, before kicking his ankle and holding a sword to his throat.
"Not every sword stroke is a kill!" Uhtred thundered over the cheering crowd, as Yrsa smiled. This was a topic she was more familiar with. Put a bow, or even a sword or an axe, in her hands, and Yrsa was in her element. "A kill is something you must fashion! Whether man against man, or within a shield wall, anything below the knee is vulnerable. A strike to the ankle won't kill you, but it'll open the door and death himself will step through that door."
"I once shot a rival lord in the ankle whilst he was on his horse," Yrsa revealed, as Beocca sent her a concerned look. "Don't worry, he died quickly after that, I did not torture him."
"That's..." He was cut off as a group of horsemen approached their little arena, around six on the back of large animals and Danes if ever Yrsa had seen them. She hopped over the fence, her hand on her sword, that rested at her hip, as she stood beside Halig, her head tilted as she watched them. Even after being here for weeks, Yrsa hadn't truly seen any other Danes, just Saxons.
