" Damn," he cussed, inhaling sharply as Rágn's wife dabbed herbal water onto his arrow wound with a cloth. He really had no terrible injuries beside this; his face was scratched and his sleeve torn, but he had taken special care of Helna's body after the first arrow struck him.

" Oh, don't curse, Lord Hélna, it is difficult to heal for the arrow had poison on it," she soothed, though she herself looked frazzled. There were many injured men, though they had had the advantage of terrain and Sif's connection to the land. Calsar's people had been forced to retreat with some struggle.

" How can I not curse?" Sif complained.

" We've held them back, for now, and so we should celebrate it, instead," she said, still worrying him.

Satisfied with the treatment, he got up and yanked his tunic back over his head. She seemed optimistic, but Sif had deeper worries. If Calsar knew of him, and had ordered him prisoner, would it not be more difficult entirely to keep them driven away?

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