Foredawn, in the Old Forest; an eerie mist hovers on the pool's surface, the scarce light that seeps through the thick foliage plays tricks with the shapes, the colours; even the sounds, of the forest.
The girl is young, very young, yet her grey eyes suggest of an older age, an older soul. She peers at the Eorling standing in front of her, reading his traits like a writing, inscriptions of an ancient wisdom, probably older than the world itself.
Her fingers draw a rune on his forehead, its shape that of an "M". She smiles at him.
«You are Ehwaz, the horse.»
She touches his lips, lightly.
«The changing. The movement, the future.»
He smiles at her, softly; her fingers caress his beard.
«The trust.»
In the camp, on the shore, the other northmen are sleeping; some are snoring, but the girl and the Eorling don't hear them. There is a music, a special, different one, playing only for them, that only they can hear.
