Leofric found himself quite wrong...he did not sleep the rest of that night, not because of the new baby, but because of Ola's excitement over the new arrival. "I have a brother!" he kept saying, turning under the furs to smile idiotically at Leofric, grabbing his hands ecstatically, or even at one point, kissing his seaxa friend! It seemed that the new baby was the only one going to get any sleep this night! Leofric could see in the fire's light where it lay cradled in Fritha's arms, Halvard and the pictish wicce keeping vigil for the first night of it's life. Fritha had taken some of the broth at intervals before falling asleep--no doubt due to the draught prepared by the wise woman, and Halvard did his best to express his thanks to her in his limited saxon. The old woman smiled at him, and patted his hand as she kept watch over her charges.

She picked up the small figure she had placed beneath Fritha's head, and was about to pocket it when Halvard stopped her. "Disir!...Freya! You not papar?" She detected no hostility in his voice, only surprise. She assumed that his last word meant christian, and she laughed quietly. "I am, but it dinna hurt to ask help o' the Great Mother as well." She watched as the norseman slowly worked his way through both her words and her accent. At length, his face cleared, and he smiled broadly in return. "Is good. Fritha need all help," he paused for a bit, then continued. "I tell you only...first baby Ragnhild, she die ere she come--and we afraid lose Ola later...he was last of two-born...Rurik die after two days. Ola not know this. We wait long time before try to get another!"

"What shall you name him? He has such light hair...in summer it will probably be almost white!"

Halvard looked for a long time at the sleeping baby, pride evident in his gaze, and the way he grinned made it clear that he loved both child and mother deeply. He was silent for a long time before speaking again. "We talk much on this; past say it should be Rurik, but we not want this...Ola named for Fritha's father, so can be other name now...and we are liking Kraki...is good for craft and farm both."

"Ye dinna choose a name for a warrior...a viking?" she tried not to sound surprised.

The man's face darkened a moment, then cleared as he shook his head sharply. "We not them...for long we farm and sell--no great tale, but we not dead. Kraki is good name for him." As he looked on his son, he said a silent prayer to the norns that his thread would be long, and unknotted by battle or the meddling ways of Loki Mischief-Maker. Perhaps it was selfish, but having lost two children already, he wanted to keep the remaining two as long as possible!

When morning came, it found only the woman still awake; Halvard had lasted longest, once the tussling between Ola and the seaxa boy had reached a climax, they too had fallen into a deep slumber. As she looked at the two entwined in one another's arms, she could hardly repress a small smile...her own sons had fought like wild things rather than show any sign of love for one another, but let some one else do aught against either, and they joined as one to turn on the wrong-doer! Did it take strangers to make such fast friendships?

Perhaps it did, she thought. In the days of long ago, the britons had tried to unite against the romans, to no avail--and again against the Seaxa, with nearly as little success. Her people had their safe places in the north in Strathclyde, and in the west beyond Offa's Dike, but little else. Would the Seaxa in their turn be forced into their own safe lands? Perhaps the seaxa and picts could be friends, like this boy and his norse companion? Thinking of the old lands of Deira and Bernicia, she thought that such could be possible...only the great army of the danes had ended the mixing there. Would the Danes sweep all before them, or become part of the stew as well? She hoped to live long enough to find out!

As she prepared some breakfast for the family, she took stock of their chattel. Though the house was wood and packed dirt, there was no sign of disorder or filth. The floor was neatly swept, and all goods were well stored and vermin-free. She saw signs that some attempt had also been made at decoration, even in such a new and perhaps temporary place as this appeared to be. Carving had been done on the main ridge beam, and some painting appeared on a few side panels, though that had not been completed. A good family, she thought, stirring the thick porridge carefully. They will make good neighbours!

By the time cock-crow had awakened them, the porridge was ready served and waiting for their tired bodies, and Halvard saw the old woman smile as she left the family to it's affairs.