It took only a few minutes, and Sif internally thanked Étain for his life as he gave him a warm earthenware mug of tea.

" Poor Lord Hélna," Étain remarked. " How war grinds down the soul..."

" Don't smile at me that way," Sif said, putting on a front of being annoyed. He was actually a bit partial to Étain; he liked the idol which the boy had produced of him.

" Lady Aoife bid you collect the tethered god from the bog, did she?" Étain continued. "What an enviable task."

" Some man of Calsar's desires it," Sif said. "He promised to pardon us if we deliver it to him."

" And you believed him?" Étain asked, twirling his hair.

" Not really," Sif said, sipping his drink. " But it's worth trying. It seems these bodies are useless without their souls, anyway."

He stood, and feeling a bit sentimental, patted Étain's hair.

" You must come to my village after the fighting ends," he said absently, placing his mug to the side. " I'll have our paper girls show you how us heathens make art."

So he left.

<- .....->