“A man can weep, at such times,” Eyvind said quietly. “Look at me, after all. And I’m supposed to be a Wolfskin.” The boy couldn’t understand, of course; none of them could. But by the time the disposal was complete, and the anthem of sorrow died down to a little, mournful melody hummed under the breath by one young woman who rocked and rocked a man’s still form in her arms, her eyes squeezed shut so tight it seemed she would never open them on the world again, Eyvind found himself sitting a little farther away, with his back to the remains of a low rock wall, and several children clustered by him as if seeking some kind of shelter in his own massive form. The two lads crouched on either side, and at his feet were a pair of small girls, their pale, translucent skin and long dark hair bringing Nessa sharply back to his mind. One touched the raw patches on his ankles with small, soft fingers. The other simply squatted there, staring at him round-eyed. A third girl, somewhat older, perched on the wall next to the first lad, and seemed to be trying to ask Eyvind something, but he couldn’t understand her, of course. He knew she said Nessa, and he nodded at that; he thought she said Rona, and he wondered about Rona, since the dog Shadow had returned. Had he heard rightly last night? Had the old woman somehow survived, against the odds? If anyone could do it, she could.

A third lad was scratching the dog behind the ears, talking to it almost as a child would who had not just witnessed so much of death and loss, so much of hatred and cruelty. And the sun was shining; through all the song of anguish, it had cast its light across these green meadows, these strange, lichen-crusted stones, these fair bays and shining waterways in sweet, impartial benison. The season passed, the tide turned. There were children here, children who would one day be young men and women with the same beauty and fire and goodness in their spirits as Nessa, and her young kinsman, Kinart, who now lay here at rest on the hard earth. Shadow pranced forward, planting her feet on Eyvind’s shoulders and washing his damaged face with her long, wet tongue. The children laughed, and Eyvind felt a powerful grin stretching his swollen lips. Odin’s bones, this tooth really did have to come out.

“To work, now,” he told them, rising to his feet with some difficulty. “We must finish and get back before the tide comes up. You’ll all have to help me.”