Shedding his clothes, he ran out and plunged. This was no quiet lake. Here he wrestled and frolicked with the water. When he ducked below, he could keep his eyes open in its brininess and see how weed swayed and fish flickered through amber depths. Head up again, he spied two seals not far off, sporting like himself. When he waded back ashore, even the chill of the wind on his wet skin and the itch of salt afterward welcomed him to the home for which he had always longed.

After a while hunger and thirst nudged his thoughts earthward. He must find water he could drink. Hunting could not be good here, and he only knew how to fish inland. There he must soon withdraw, unless men dwelt somewhere nearby. He would try for that. To keep the sun glare behind him, he walked east.

The sun went ever lower. Its beams strewed shivery gold across the waves. His shadow lengthened before him. The strand narrowed as the land slowly rose. Near sunset he spied a high bluff overlooking the sea and bent his steps toward it. From the top he might find a mark to make for.

Climbing the gorse-begrown slope, he saw a man on the height. Hadding’s heart jumped. Though the stranger seemed also alone, he loosened the sword that had been Hardgreip’s in its sheath and took a firmer grasp on his spear before going on.

“Hail!” he cried, waving his free arm. “I come in peace.”

The other looked his way but stayed on the edge of the bluff. Nearing, Hadding made out that he was very tall, lean but wide-shouldered. Under a long blue cloak that flapped in the wind were goodly clothes. A wide-brimmed hat shadowed his face. From beneath it streamed long hair and beard, wolf gray. His only weapon that Hadding could see was a spear, of length befitting his height, the head blindingly agleam in the level sunlight.

“Hail,” he called back through the shrilling air. His voice was as deep as the voice of the sea. “I have been awaiting you.”

Astonished, Hadding came nigh. When he halted, he looked upward into a gaunt face where the left eyelids were closed above a hollowness. The right eye glared ice blue and winter cold. Hadding could barely meet it. Awe came upon him and his own spear sank in his hand.

He felt somehow that it would be unwise to hide any of the truth from this man. “I am Hadding Gramsson, faring by myself,” he said low.

“That name belonged to a son of the former Dane-king,” said the other.

Hadding straightened. “I am he. I seek what is rightfully mine and revenge for the wrongs done my kin.” Surely he did best to go boldly forward. “May I ask who you are?”