Blasphemy [Finan the Agile]

CHAPTER xxii. 'Therefore Thou Sleep'st So Sound'

ﾟ❁ུ۪ °ₒ 𓂂 ˚ 𓂂 ₒ ° ₒ 𓂂 ˚˖⋆

CHAPTER xxii. 'Therefore Thou Sleeps't So Sound'

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              In his dreams, they were still together. In his dreams, she smiled when she saw him; and he, in turn, embraced her like a Dane's soul to be vanquished at the end of his sword. In his dreams, he was not a dim-witted fool for a tongue of unwise words, but rather, his flirts and concerns were innate and everlasting as a Francian poet. His words were Christian, blessed by the angels, and therefore un-resistible to the woman of his dreams. Nathless, like the forest sprites and river far he oh-so wished to seek true, Finan's dreams were only just that; figments of his imagination. In truth, Finan and his Irish-lady departed with anger, and detestment overriding their stubborn subconsciouses. Only for him, he had not realized his dimwittedness and un-wise word until days unto he, Sihtric, and Osferth, voyage to spy at Bebbanburg. He wanted, he needed to apologize – this time, he needed for his apology to be true, and sincere. But he would not be able to do so until his mission was over, until he was to face her once again.

What he dreaded the most, however, was the possibility of finding Coccham empty of his rogue. For Freydis, out of anger and truth, promised that by the time he got back, she would be gone. And to prove her statement further, she made a show to the Irishman of saying her goodbye's to Sihtric, and Osferth, only giving him a slight nod before sauntering away unassuming, and cold.

Finan stood at the hull of the ship, relishing in the warmth the breeze provided as opposed to the cold, salty water that slowly seeped beneath his feet. There had been a storm in the early morning, one of surprising swiftness and strength – one moment the skies were blue, a sparse cloud in sight, and the next it was coarse and black with raindrops the size of wolf pups falling from the sky. Whilst the storm was brief, it was terrible; half of their water stock had flown overboard, and their bread was left soggy. Worst of all, they must have hit a rock, for Osferth was forced to bale buckets of water from the boat's bottom to prevent them from sinking entirely.

"I cannot do this any longer," huffed the monk, sitting down for as long as the ship's quick-filling allowed him to. "Why can't Sihtric take over?"

Sihtric kicked the baby monk in the shin, "Because I am steering the boat, quit bellyaching you sorry-for-nothing Christian fool."

The Irishman turned in surprise, his interest piqued, "Feelin' seasick, Sihtric?" Sihtric, out of their entire group of bastard warriors, was best holding his tongue – so hearing the Dane swear, and insult the baby monk surprised Finan greater than the time he managed to outdrink him in an alehouse bet. Nathless, the Irishman could only think of one reason to facilitate such a foul mood; a bellyache.

"I have felt nothing but seasickness since we stepped onto this blasted boat, Finan." Groaned the Dane, "we should be there by now! Check the barrel, Osferth."