Unbound

Talorc looks at Veln, trying to pierce meaning into the words. He looks pointedly at Beorn, clearly expecting something. "Mas e do thoil e, dè thuirt e? Bha e a ’coimhead caran neònach, cus de fhaclan mòra, ach tha mi a’ smaoineachadh gu bheil e airson gun tòisicheadh sinn bho na Sacsonaich?" Scots Gaelic: "Please, what did he say? It seemed a bit strange, too many big words, but I think he wants us to beg from the Saxons?"

Beorn translates, "Ann an seòrsa. Tha e ag ràdh gu bheil baile faisg air an seo."   He adds as an afterthought, "Àite naomh."  He points in the direction they are heading.  "Bath." Scots Gaelic: "In a way. He says there is a town near here.  A holy place."

Talorc spits, unimpressed. "I need no saxon god pity. We make luck."

Runwyn looks at Veln and Talorc, and shrugs. Veln had the best suggestion she had heard all morning, simply because he knew somewhat were they where. "We go that way? But I offer another suggestion, if only slightly. We are on task to do what now? We are going to hunt down these slavers right? We perhaps track them to where they stay, and steal from them." Runwyn looks at them men, for she had a bit of fury about them. She wanted those men to pay for their crimes, and she was unsure if Bath was the right path.

Talorc looks at Runwyn and nods. "This I will do." He hefts his shield over his shoulder and picks up his spear. 

Veln is frozen by the Talorc's reaction, dealing with the shame of having spoken out of order before able men who knew better. He casts his eyes down and tries not to think of their intentions since the more he did, the more it felt wrong to him. But he knew well to remain silent and at least try to be useful and not end on the wrong end with the rest. He helped gather the rest of the elk's cooked remains, using his tunic as a sack the same way he had done the last day. The day's warm sun casts comfort warmth on his pale skin.

"Do not be so hasty.  I sense the venom you have for these men."   Beorn warns.  "They should be brought to justice, I agree.  But the wrathful way leads to one's own destruction."   Beorn picks up the pace.  He had the longed to share some of the words from the scriptures that had brought solace to his once inflamed heart. In this land, they would only fall upon deaf ears or worse - they may heed his words and stake him for his efforts.  Fearing his words to be lost on Talorc's ears, he partially translates his words. "Feumaidh sinn gun a bhith a ’reubadh seo. Chan eil sinn deiseil. Faodaidh sinn an toirt gu ceartas." Scottish Gaelic: "We need to not rush this.  We are not ready. We can bring them to justice."

Talorc grins broadly, almost laughing. "Chan eil fios agad dè a tha mi comasach." He puffs out his chest and slaps it proudly, before laughing fully. "Ach fhathast, na biodh eagal ort, chan eil mi nam amadan. Chan eil mi an dùil ionnsaigh a thoirt air a ’champa agus do mharbhadh uile. Dìreach marbhadh an fheadhainn a tha a ’tighinn no a’ dol. Gabh na dh ’fheumas sinn gus mairsinn bhuapa." Translation:   You do not know what I am capable of. But still, fear not, I am no fool. I do not plan to attack the camp and get you all killed. Just kill those coming or going. Take what we need to survive from them.

Hearing Talorc's words brought unease to Beorn.  He was surrounded by murders and thieves himself.  Like an infection, hate had begotten hate.  His hand self-consciously tightens on the bow. Beorn closes his eyes and silently prays for guidance.

Veln follows the group closely behind Runwyn, eyes cast down to the trodden road. He carries some of the meat in a bag over his shoulder, shuffling the weight from one side to the other as he tires easily. But he would much prefer the exhaustion than to try and make sense of the men who were eagerly discussing things beyond his comprehension of the tongue. 

After a wandering semi-aimlessly through the woods for half an hour or so, the road eventually appears through the trees ahead. Following it east the party eventually see the ageing pale stone of the town's ageing Roman buildings rising in the distance.

Runwyn asks the group as they get closer "How are we to explain how we are traveling or our weapons? What skills do we have?"

"We were attacked and struggled to survive."  Beorn was in good spirits; the growing sight of a town seems to ease his woes.  Beorn looks at Runwyn, "No need to complicate this with a lie."   He looks to the others, unsure if maybe his faith was misplaced.  "Does anyone have reason to fear or bear ill will to these people?  Speak it now."

"While I don't know this village, I've made dealings with villagers before. They will be wary of us, yet we may  speak sweetly and wisely to one another so as to persuade them that our current condition is honest and dire." After a full night's rest and some food, the large Saxon appears more full and complete than before. He maintains a rapid pace without rushing. His eyes dart inquisitive across the horizon as Alric leans his chin against the top of his spear and assesses the town. "There. Farms." Alric points out farms that appear as the trees of the forest fade in numbers. "Saxon farms, it would seem. Those structures are familiar to me."   As the group continues along the gradient that transitions thick forest into farmland, Alric - surprisingly - laughs. "I grew up on a farm, you know!" he pats a heavy hand on Veln and points to one of the farmers in the distance. "All that toil and trouble..." he waves his hand slowly in front of Veln's eyes as if to reveal a veil covering them " All that toil and trouble completely dependent on hope. Hope is a terrible strategy, you know. They split the land and use the land and hope the land provides but they cannot speak  with the land to ensure their efforts are worth it. My father decided we needed help and sent me..." he turns his gaze back to the forest and points into the woods. "Well, he sent me back into the woods to learn the ways of the Galdor so I could return and bring prosperity to him. And now look at me! " Alric looks around as if recognizing a familiar setting which is, in reality, entirely unfamiliar. "I have returned from someone else's woods to aid someone else's farm! Serves him right." "So, what is it we seek here? I do not think we should stay long - working for the season seems unwise knowing we may be being sought after - but I think we could use at least simple wrappings and some basic supplies before heading deeper into the town. What about you? What would you have us pursue?" Alric nods to Talorc, who seems by far to be the most confident. 

Veln feels entranced by the speech of the massive man, even more so when he is made part of it. Once again, he is surprised how such an imposing man would have a voice so jovial and confident. Veln nods without thinking, for he knows what the Saxon speaks of. He had memories of his father's silent prayers before each summer storm or during long heat without a trickle of cloud on the vast sky, with the face of a robbed man staring at a lost battle each time he went to tend to the fields. There was a very little man could do for his plants but give his sweat to salt the land, and then pray. Despite he had tried, Veln never felt anything from a dying plant. If a Galdorman could listen, and speak, and tend to the land, it was truly a miracle like no other.  Though he wished to speak and be caught in the web of Alric's confidence, Veln remains silent. He waits for Talorc's response, hopeful the warrior won't confuse wisdom with a challenge. 

Talorc grunts. He has understood little and shut off through much of what was said. He understood a little though and picked out enough words. He nods, thinking he is in agreement. "Farms are good. Food, metal, blades." He runs his finger on the sharpened wood top of his spear to illustrate his point. "We can take." He looks a little sickened, but set. 

Beorn begins to feel indignant by the people around. 'Veln's beliefs were misplaced, but at least had the virtue of a holy man.  Even the dru man Alric had greater virtue than Talorc.  That brute might have been the strongest and the warrior of the group, but he would rain destruction upon these people.'   Beorn decides to address this. "We will not," to the common of the group.  "We work; we share gifts." he left off the 'as God intended.'  Despite his priestly training and ideals, he needed to make it clear for Talorc for the good of souls souls of the farmers as well as their party. "Gus seo a dhèanamh, chan eil thu nas fheàrr na na tràillean an uairsin."    He hoped Talorc would find recourse in his words.  Forge a new path from any demons that had once held him.  But Beorn knew that he would give his life to defend the weak - heathen or otherwise - demonstrating the greatest of christendom's virtues. Scottish Gaelic: "To do this you are no better than the slavers then."

Talorc shrugs. "We share. They have, we do not. We take, then both have." He laughs at Beorn momentarily before looking more stern. " Tha thu gam mhearachd Beorn. Chan eil mi ag ràdh gu bheil mi nas fheàrr. Bidh na daoine agam a ’tighinn bhon mhuir agus a’ toirt na dh ’fheumas iad gus a bhith beò bhon fheadhainn nach urrainn grèim a chumail air. Is e seo dòigh an t-saoghail. Is ann leat a tha na tha agad. Thug na tràillean mi nuair a bha mi lag. A-nis bidh mi làidir a-rithist agus cleachdaidh mi an neart sin thairis orra, gus an toirt dhomh fhìn. Seo mar a tha e agus mar a bhios e an-còmhnaidh." His face softens, almost sympathetic. His expression now sad he asks quietly "Mura robh athair agad airson na leasanan sin a theagasg dhut? Tha thu a ’bruidhinn mar aon de na caoraich "    _____________________________________________________________________________________________________________________ Translation Scots Gaelic: "You mistake me Beorn. I do not claim to be better. My people come from the sea and take what they need to survive from those who cannot hold onto it. This is the way of the world. You own what you have. The slavers took me when I was weak. Now I will be strong again and use that strength over them, to take them for my own. This is how it is and how it will always be." ______________________________________________________________________ Had you no father to teach you these lessons? You speak as one of the sheep. [The last word has a deeper meaning though, with implication of one who is there for being farmed and not one that takes action. The victim.]

" Bhiodh e na b ’fheàrr a bhith coltach ri caora na bhith na madaidhean-allaidh. Cha chùm mi ris an fhòirneart gun chiall seo." Beorn turns and walks away. He knows this may be his last words to Talorc, or in deed his last words, should the heathen practice his craft upon him. As he walks, he readies his body to react with the bow in his hand in case of self defense, but there is hope that it would not come to that; and a conflicting desire it will. Perhaps, his sacrifice may spare others, be it his life or his Lord's blessing. But there is a strange confidence in his stance; a resolve he had thought lost from before. Beorn approaches Veln and Alric, trying to appeal to the more sensible in the group, locking eyes with Veln and shifting to Alric. "I will not be a part of slaughter. If that is the path you chose, then I must walk another. Think on this and decide." Beorn walks a few feet onward and looks back to the group - waiting for their response. Scottish Gaelic: " It would be better to be like a sheep than to be of the wolves. I will not abide by this senseless violence."

Talorc laughs like it is some kind of joke. He tries to answer in Saxon. "True? You would die. No food? No spear?" He looks to the others. "I say take. You..."  He points around at everyone. "We,... all... Choose. I won't fight friends."

Veln looks up at Alric to read his own take on the situation but even without that hint, the air felt sour among the freed slaves. He understood little except Beorn's turning his back on Talorc, perhaps foolishly inviting his wrath. Luckily for Beorn, what he said only provoked laughter. The boy stepped forward and Alric's hand brushed off his shoulder. "Wait." He turned at Beorn with all the firmness in his voice. "Each of these men value life above all they own, except the lives of their kin. Our lives mean nothing, and we have nothing to lose. They have." He struggles to look up at Talorc and meet his eyes, suddenly recognizing his fragility next to a grizzled warrior. "They will have to make with this. We can ask for little, and they will share with us, and we will leave them in peace. If they see wisdom, there should be no blood."

Talorc shrugs but with an amused smile nods and gestures for Veln to lead the way. "You try. Good if yes. If no, I don't starve."

Veln struggles to remain firm against the vast uncertainty of the situation he found himself in. "I will," he says calmly. He turns back at Runwyn and Alric, "What it is we need most?" As he looks upon Runwyn and Alric, for a moment he imagines them and himself as an estranged family struggling to survive in the wilds on their own and failing. A lie, but no different from the truth and unlike other truths not spoken at the point of a spear. Despite Alric's size, Veln had seen nothing but calm and heart-fire warmth from him, such must have been the gift of a Galdorman. For a moment he thinks he could pull from that warmth  - something he wasn't sure was even capable of - at the moment that counts when he addresses these Saxon folk but he quickly regrets even thinking of something so foul like robbing a friend.

Runwyn seems the most hesitant to answer, not due to a lack of thinking,  but more a strange puzzlement over her companions reluctant to harm the English. Are they from so far to have had no wars with them? "Do you not know what the english do to the Welshman? They take us for slaves and care not for our words. Why should we care if we can thin out their numbers? Do not believe they would not do to you worse than us simply kill them. They are scum, or did you forget our bondage?" She seemed bitter over the lack of killing them, a hate born not from fear of unknown but from experience. However, she also knew she was one against three, and alone she had no chance. She glares at the men, before it became clear they wanted peace. She grudgingly offers, "We need clothing an shoes, and atleast spear heads. I doubt this men would know how to make seaxs or anything similar."

Veln weighted Runwyn's outpour of spite in his head and though he could see no fault in it and his own misery was from the hands of the Saxon, he still felt in himself -- perhaps against all reason -- ordinary people were better than this. He just nodded back to her but also felt wrong to ask her to act beyond her hatred. He looks at Alric, and then at his shoulder at Beorn. "Would you come with me?" Clothing people would be less hesitant to share but not weapons, for weapons are precious and given to strangers they happen to turn against your back. Veln had no idea how he would ask for such and was going to seek counsel with the two on his way. It was still worth a try, and though he suspected Talorc would take his honest attempt as decoy there was nothing else to be done. 

Talorc waves them off with an amused smile before turning to Runwyn. "Children." He smirks before picking up a stick and scratching out a map on the ground. "They." He places a pebble, pointing at their companions, and pushing it towards a square on the ground. "You" He takes a stick and thrusts it towards the back of the building. "Yes?" 

"Yes." Beorn replies to Veln.  He is pleased to be heard, even if he had suspected the woman would side with Talorc.  Yet they had the chance to prove that the evil they knew was not the only way.

Looking at Talroc, Runwyn tilts her head, a bit confused as he starts to play with sticks. However, once it becomes clear what he intended, she nods. Whatever peaceful means the rest wanted to enjoy, her and Talroc at least agreed they would not leave empty handed. She just hoped her fools of companions could tell that. "You also be there? Two are better than one."

Talorc nods. "But they watch." He points at the group of their companions. "I try."

The emotion around the group's discourse is heavier than the refreshing breeze that carries smells of both forest and field. It has firmly settled around the group of former slaves. Alric takes the various discussions he can understand in, looks to Veln, then to the end-around plan being drawn on the ground.  To Alric's side were two men of a peaceful disposition; in front of him were two who take first. Both of these dispositions were of value if the correct plan could be concocted.  Alric looks to Beorn, who he understands can communicate with the one who is taking a raiding position, and nods to Talorc:  "Tell him he risks too much, too soon. We will secure food and perhaps clothing from these farmers through words. They have no weapons."  Alric pauses, letting his practical mind take lead over his more peaceful alignment, " If our words and deeds fail,"  he motions to Veln and Beorn,  "We will need to take what is necessary only because we have no other options. We need until midnight - my magick takes time if they will accept it - and we should not raid while the sun acts against our vicious intentions." Alric's mind was racing through alternatives and scenarios. Given the limited time, he comes to the conclusion that raiding now is the only option that would secure a position of constant disadvantage: raiding for so little reward only would make procuring future goods and weapons more difficult and would ensure further undesired opposition. Raiding should be kept as an option, but it was not the opening option. If Alric could take at least the weak boy with him, he felt certain he could secure trade - or at least pity - from the farmers. 

"They will have weapons. Everyone has. But weapons are not gifted to strangers." Veln remembers his father's stash, the spear above the doorway concealed between two carved logs. He remembers on the day he saw him for a list time, the old man had taken it with him. He hadn't thought much of it, back then. "I will go and talk with them. I may have ways to avoid their hostility, and plead to their hospitality." Veln had noticed Runwyn approach Talorc and the two had made signs in the ground he already knew what they might be. He did not want to know more, neither what part his attempt would play in their raid. If anything, Veln thought and he nodded to Alric and turned to head slowly for the first buildings not far away, any time bought by his plead would give the others time to consider if bloodshed was worth it. If clothing and some food in exchange for whatever Veln could do or the Galdorman's gifts were enough despite the thirst for revenge unquenched, it may not come to taking lives.

The first farm on the road is a modest wooden hovel typical of Saxon ceorls. A man and a woman are already at work in the fields outside. They look up cautiously as Veln approaches them, not expecting visitors. 

Alric follows behind the small man, his eyes scanning the horizon to assess any dangers. He notices a man and woman tolling over the fields and highlights them to Veln. "There, a man and a woman in the fields. Perhaps a place to start? I have gifts that can supplement their fields, but we must get something in return." What was it that would launch this band of former slaves into a position far better than their current place? Food? Shelter? Security? Wealth would be nice. As he continued his path towards the first farm, Alric looks back to the raider to determine the likelihood of this weak plan keeping a raider at bay. It is unlikely. "The work of Galdorman is worthy of trade, Veln. The problem is that this magic takes time to set root. This means they will need to trust in our abilities enough to trade with us for work today. That is our goal today. I can assist you in building their confidence in us." 

As Veln walks forward towards the fields of one of the farmhouses, he listens intently to what Alric says. The boy nods and tries to clear his thoughts of what Alric looks back at. He passes the makeshift bag with the lesser half of the stag meat to Alric. He needed his hands free. "Please take it. If we must, it's one small thing we got." His nerve shows through his dry words, though he tries to hide it. Then he steps forward, leaving Alric and Beorn behind but very close. He wished Runwyn could swallow her spite, if only for a moment, and come. Two strangers against one man of the family was a bad omen. As the two, man and women raise the heads off the field, all in a sudden the insecurity flooded him. He stumbled forward and his voice trembled if only to aid him to look genuine in his light. He is naked to the sun and his dry chiseled ribs perhaps support his words. "Please. We mean no harm." He had to thank his uncle for the Saxon language he taught him during long nights along the trade route. He raises his empty hands to show his intentions. "We only pass your land. We bear little, the three of us, but we look to exchange." He swallowed and glanced over his shoulder then back at the couple. He knew his last words were crucial. "Are we welcome on your land?"

Alric keeps an eye on the farmers as Veln speaks, careful to keep a calming disposition. In his native Saxon tongue, Alric decides to speak up to support Veln.  "He speaks the truth. We come seeking to improve our unfortunate condition and bear skills that may be of worth. These two, "  Alrick motions to Beorn and Veln, "are effective at attending to the ill and wounded."  Alric motions to himself. "I am perhaps better suited for the fields. I have been practised in the arts of speaking with the earth to increase your harvest. Perhaps these are something you would value in exchange for food? Clothing? We seek to improve our lot by using our gifts before begging charity."  

The farmer grips his hoe as he watches the bedraggled travellers warily, but something about Veln's innocence and Alric's friendly art puts him at ease. "Ye some kind of druid, lad?" He ventures cautiously. The woman says nothing, remaining a half step behind him.

"Yes. I spent much of my youth speaking to my father's lands, bequeathing my own energy to the fields so that they would produce more. I can coax things from the earth and sky in ways others cannot."  Alric lifts his head to the sky and notices a flock of sparrows flying by. "See these birds? Flying from the earth? Teasing those of us trapped on the ground with their wings?"  Alric waits to see if the farmer follows his gaze.  "To prove my abilities, I will remind them of the stress we - you and I - feel while toiling away at the earth -- stress that I can ease from your shoulders in exchange for food, clothing, or a means of defense, as we don't intend to stay here long..." Alric kneels down and assessing the distance of the sparrows from the earth. Using both hands, he draws two, three, four concentric circles with a dot in the center. Muttering a few muffled phrases, he assesses again where the sparrows are headed, and drags his finger from the dot, breaks past the outlines of the traced circles, and swings his arm up into the sky as if throwing an invisible net pulled from the dirt into the air. Still flying, the sparrows hit some sort of unseen force, bouncing backward and attempting to reorient their position. Despite their flapping, the animals flutter down towards the earth. Once safely on their feet, a few try to jump back up into the sky but seem lost as soon as their feet leave the ground. The birds, it seems, have returned to the earth as Alric promised.    Alric looks to the farmer with a serious look. "Do you find the three of us have abilities worth bargaining for?"  The birds continue walking around the earth, pecking at the earth and waiting for the effects of the magic to wear away.     

The farmer looks cautious, but his eyes widen in disbelief when he sees Alric call the sparrows to the ground. "Aye, lads," he nods. "If ye can call forth the bounty of these lands, then you are welcome at our hearth." He spits in his palm and holds it out to Alric to shake.

Veln has been glad that Alric took the cue with swift confidence of his tone. The boy observed the galdorman speak openly of his skill and felt a small prick of envy. Having something to be proud of and feel certain about, something other than a secret to protect from the eyes of man was a beautiful thing. His clouded thoughts are immediately blown away by the flaps of wings from a flock of confused birds that are brought to the ground by Alric's will. He only shakes away from his amazement when the farmer and Alric seal their word.

The church had declared Beorn's blessings to be a satanic sign and and its use heresy.  But here, it seemed such Godly gifts were appreciate as miracles of His touch.  'Why was it that these people in these lands were heretics, and the church devout?'   He uttered a small prayer of apology for the sacrilege, but the question still lingered in his mind.  This man may have been what some would call a druid, but there was no evil here, at least from his brief showing.  Beorn was curious why he would waste God's gifts on such a show, but it had helped there cause.  Such was his gratitude that he reached out to Alric's shoulder and spoke a thank you to him.  Beorn turned to Veln with a relieved smile.  He looked back to farmer at the doorway, still cautious. "Is there any among you that are injured that could use a healer's touch?"

The farmer glances at the woman behind him and back at Beorn. "Our daughter... she is not hurt, but she is sickly. She was never a strong child."

"I am unsure how much I could help in that way, but I am more than willing to try."   Beorn replies to the farmer.

Alric looks to his companions and finds a growing agreement amongst the three of them. The other two will be a bit more difficult to come to agreement.  Wait. The other two!  Alric nods to the man. "Before we agree, there are two more of us who wait at the edge of the woods. I don't want to take advantage of your hospitality after a deal is made. If they are also welcome, I will begin the ritual yet today."  Alric spits in the palm of his hand extends it. Knowing he has altered the terms of the deal, he does not shake the outstretched hand of the farmers. This choice to agree should be the farmer's.  I hope those two gave us the time they agreed to...  

A frown of confusion and concern graces the farmer's brow as he peers past Alric towards where Talorc and Runwyn lurk near the trees. The woman seems less threatening, but the enormous pict gives him pause. The man looks from Talorc and back to Alric a couple of times, before sighing and grasping Alric's hand, his decision made. "Aye, a deal's a deal, druid. Save our harvest an' we'll see how we can help you and yours."

Veln had made his mind to hold steady and not for once glance over his shoulder, it would have only alarmed the farmer. But then Alric points at them openly and the man's eyes turn glassy and cold for a long moment, and the boy worries. Only when both hands shake firmly, he can exhale and turn to Beorn and enough for the farmer's wife to hear. "We should see to their daughter, with your wisdom you will be able to help her." Veln wanted to send a stronger message to the furthest two, but also judge from their humble home what they could exchange for. But most of all, he needed the shroud of a more experienced man. If it came to him helping his way, he couldn't risk doing it alone among strangers. "I will come with you."

"I am Godwin," the farmer adds, introducing himself as he leads Veln towards his hovel. "This is my wife, Edith." The humble, yet sturdy home is squat and dark inside, arrayed with tools of toil, but nothing extravagant. A pale young girl shies from the sun and plays with some twigs on the ground inside. She looks up and squints as her father opens the door, before hurrying over to him and hugging his leg tightly. She buries her face against the man, hiding from the strangers. "Hilda," Godwin tells his daughter softly, "this man would like to meet you."

Runwyn approaches, her face wearing a dark look, for she knew not what deal was struck with the Englishman, but she knew enough of how business was done that the hand shake after the look meant they were welcome somewhat. She was not happy with it, but she tried to look as non threatening as possible, though when one thought of how she was built, the real challenge would have been how to make her look any less threatening. As she approaches, she calls out in Welsh "Beth sydd wedi'i daro? Ydyn ni'n ddiogel am nawr?"  Her distrust of strangers, let alone strange men meant she was a few feet away, calling towards the hut, just incase she needed to run. It would not have been above a man to run a crooked deal. "Welsh: What has been struck? Are we safe for now?"

Beorn motions her over, "Ie, cysegr am dueddu at eu sâl a bendith ar eu caeau."   He is pleased by her apparent demeanor.  None of that hate and hostility he felt before shows through.  He looked around for Talorc, "Chaidh fasgadh a thoirt dhuinn. Thig a-steach, Talorc."  Realizing that the multiple tongues might off put the English.  "Apologies, our friends were rescued from slavers so they are not skilled at the native tongue," Beorn says to Godwin.  He looks to the young girl, trying to determine her age.  "She's how old, Godwin? For some arts it will make a difference."   Veln was making his abilities seem more than he had.  Beorn had specified injured.  He could mend a broken leg or being mauled by an animal, not wasting or disease.  At least he'd never tried, but '... through God all things are possible' so the scripture said. It might take all the blessings I have. "Welsh: Yes, sanctuary for tending to their sick and a blessing on their fields." "Gaelic: We've been given shelter.  Come on in, Talorc."

Slightly uncomfortable with his towering frame, Talorc still stands back a little so as not to seem intimidating. He walks a little closer with Runwyn and shifts his feet in the dirt. 

Veln followed the lead of Godwin and his wife, throwing occasionally a look aside to Beorn. He needed the man's support more than ever, and he tried to ignore his concerns with the other two, Runwyn and Talorc. Though they bore hatred, they would not stain the word of those people's hospitality. When he walks into the murky inside of the house, Veln resists the first instinct to look around. Instead, he focuses on the girl. He steps only one foot forward, then kneels to be at her head's level. "I am Veln." Slowly and uncertainly he extends an open hand forward as if to gently palm at an invisible hand should she offer hers. Veln looked into her fearful eyes, trying to feel the source of her ills. He felt the same chill of uncertainty before he drowned into the tar pits of any man or beast, focusing on her face. For a girl her age, it felt strange that she was this pale and she squinted as they entered, noted Veln, as if she had not felt the warm touch of sunshine for a long time. He glanced up at Godwyn to make her read her father's approval. "Your pa and ma let us come and meet you. Shouldn't you be outside and playing like the strong girl you are? It is warm and the sun is smiling upon living things."