Oswin stumbled and cursed. He used an old word, often used by his ancestors when they still inhabited the old country, across the cold northern sea. It was the name of an ancient god. Now Oswin’s family were Christians and no one was supposed to remember the old gods, but habits die hard in this place. So Oswin hurried, to the sacred spring on the eve of Winterfylleth to plead with the old gods. Yes, the spring had a new name, St Mary’s Stream, but Oswin and the villagers still called it Wulder’s Spring, unless the priest was present.
Pulling his prickly woollen cloak tighter, he trudged through the snow, his faithful dog, Eadwulf beside him. Eadwulf was the pride of the village ever since he’d had fought off two hungry wolves chasing human…show more content… The village couldn’t afford to lose Eadwulf, especially with the winter and the wolves once again closing in around them. Oswin shuddered. An icy wind had risen while he was desperately asking Wulder for help. He stood up a bit too quickly and as he did, the wind grabbed his cloak and pulled it away from his shoulders, the cloak folded itself up in a bundle and dropped, splash, into the pool at the base of the spring.
Later that night, back in his family’s house, he’d hung the cloak on a roof post near the fire pit in the centre of the room and rested, listening to his mother rhythmically turning the quern stone as she grounded the flour ready for tomorrow’s bread.
Morning was silent. During the night, much snow had come to rest on the heavily blanket the turf roof, muffling the village sounds. Oswin stood, leaving the warm straw mattress, and his cloak came into focus - hanging where he’d left it, but somehow differently. He tried to touch it, then realised that he couldn’t quite see where the edges started. He shook his head - it was like the time he’d been knocked out playing sköfuleik, a game villagers copied from the Thegn’s men. When he’d come to that time, the world had seemed blurred for hours.
Suddenly his father’s voice, urgent, interrupted his
