They say a Wolfskin does not know fear, not as a normal man does. It did not occur to Eyvind to stand back. Arming himself with a looped length of rope, he moved in on the crazed bull, holding the tether unobtrusively by his side. He made his progress slow and quiet, balancing each step against the knarr’s movement. On the other side, Firehead was edging in behind the thrashing animal. He had seized a short pole with an iron hook on one end. Because they had done this sort of thing before, catching stock for branding or gelding, there was no need for either man to speak; each knew his part. Firehead would try to get a purchase on the remaining tether, or the horns, while Eyvind moved in to loop the rope on and secure it. They’d need to be quick; the single restraint was starting to give, and the boards beneath the bull’s hooves were cracking and splitting. The animal was kicking at random, and the swinging of its head grew ever wilder.

Firehead moved closer; he lifted his hook. Eyvind stood still, noose now ready in his hand, awaiting the single moment when it might be slipped on safely. The hook would not hold the bull for long. The creature’s small eyes moved from one man to the other and back again. Eyvind glanced at Firehead, and Firehead gave a little nod, Now.

“Why don’t you use a spear and kill the creature?” The voice was Somerled’s, clear and logical. “That way you can keep your distance, and we all stay safe.”

“Get out of the way, you fool!” Eyvind snapped, alarmed that his friend had been foolish enough to come so close; he stood on the opposite side, barely out of reach of those flying hooves. Somerled didn’t know a thing about handling stock. “Let Sigurd get in there, he has to hold the head still while I put this on. If you think I’m stupid enough to slaughter Ulf’s stud bull you’re mistaken. Now shut up and let us get on with this.”

The creature’s eyes narrowed; it lowered its head as if to charge.