Fighting for control of his limbs, Padric rose and stripped to his skin, fingers useless shards of blunt meat. A pained whimper came unbidden from his lips and holding his clothes in a sodden bundle, he ran. The air against his wet skin was excruciating, but that was only the surface. His survival lay deeper, in his muscles and his blood and the heart that fueled them. He ran, forcing the warmth to pump through him. His breath wheezed in his chest, his nostrils ran with stinging fluid, but he kept running, ignoring the awful slap of his numb feet against the grass.

He forced himself to stop when he saw the strays, four ewes and two lambs, huddled together near an outcropping of boulders. He crept up carefully, the cold instantly returning. If he spooked them, he was lost. It was difficult to keep his voice calm, his wordless sounds seeming harsh in his ragged throat, but he managed to get within arm’s reach of the biggest ewe. He soothed her with his voice and with gentle strokes, edging closer. At last he was able to kneel down and place his arms around her body, pressing himself into her wool. The sour, earthy smell was intoxicating and he drank it in as warmth and feeling began to slowly return to his body.

The other sheep remained close, more at ease in his presence. They were fellow survivors of the Wallow, truly lost without the company of dog or man. Padric wondered if they were of Laoire’s flock, or Dolan’s or Ardal’s or some other man whose name he never knew. They were all dead now. The smoke from the village was visible in the distance. He did not know where the Red Caps would go next, but he had to find safety and shelter.

Ardal had said the fort was a twelve mile journey and Padric thought he had a rough estimation of where it could be found. Warm enough to function, he wrung his clothes out as best he could and spread them on the boulders. The sheep stayed close, nipping at the grass. He had no provisions, no weapon and no idea if the Red Caps were close to heel. He would have to leave the strays behind if he was to make any speed. The thought pained him suddenly and he sat against the boulder, tears coming. He wept and then laughed at his own absurdity, the chuckles coming between sobs. In time, he donned his damp clothes and turned his back on his saviors. They followed him, at first, but Padric refused to look back and quickened his steps.