No one came to look for Calsar's priest. His banner was bleached and cut into blankets, and his fine horse was turned to hauling carts. After Sif deemed he had recovered enough, he had it that the man himself was escorted into exile.

Rágn, still, weakly tried to argue that perhaps they should execute him, but it had been so long since anyone was executed that near everyone else was against it. Sif himself did not want to have him killed; he was voiceless, anyway, and stripped of his rainments, made for a madman rather than a priest.

Thus peace settled over them for the summer. The weather cooled, and fall was very comfortable; so winter passed as well.

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