“Are ye hurt, lass?” the woman asked. “Did the raiders injure ye? Or maybe the fire? Do ye need help?”
“I...I...don’t know,” Izzy stammered. “This...it’s all...wrong.”
The couple shared a look. “Come, lass,” the man said gently, holding out a hand. “Able and Morwenna Dunnock at yer service. What’s yer name?”
“Um...Izzy. Isabelle. I’m Isabelle.”
“Well, Isabelle, we’ve got some soup on the stove back at our place. Ye look like ye need it.”
Izzy stared stupidly at the hand he held out to her. She wiped her forehead on her sleeve nervously, only managing to smear ash across her face. She took the man’s hand and allowed him to pull her up.
The woman, Morwenna, gave a small smile, reaching out to gently wipe some of the ash from Izzy’s cheek. “This way, my dear, let’s get ye somewhere warm.”
Izzy allowed herself to be led away, Snaffles trotting along at her side. They lead her to a house on the edge of the village, remarkably untouched by the raid. It was larger than most, made of timber with a thatched roof and a barn and stables out the back. As Izzy stepped inside, a wave of warmth hit her from the hearth in one corner where a pot hung over a crackling fire. An inviting aroma rose from that pot, making Izzy’s stomach churn with hunger.
The couple led her to a bench near the fire, where Morwenna pushed a bowl of steaming soup into her hands. Able,with furrowed brows and a look of concern in his eyes, went out again, possibly to check on the other villagers.
Izzy looked around at the interior of the house. It was simple, a stark opposite to her modern-day apartment. The walls were made of wood and mud, built up over years of careful workmanship. The furniture was sparse: a table in the middle of the room, a chest against one wall that perhaps held the couple’s belongings, and a few benches scattered around. The floor was rough stone, covered with faded woven rugs.
She was not the only one the couple had brought to their home. Other villagers sat on the crude benches along the walls, some soot-stained, some injured, all subdued with shock. Even as she watched, Able brought more in through the door and Morwenna busied herself handing out soup to the newcomers.
The room smelled strongly of wood smoke as well as the tangy aroma of her soup. Izzy tasted it cautiously and found it comforting, filling her with warmth that had little to do with its temperature. In seconds, she’d finished the lot.
On impulse, she got up and walked over to Morwenna. “Can I help?”
Morwenna looked up from where she was kneeling by an elderly man, whispering words of comfort as he stared at nothing. “Aye, I would be grateful,” she replied. “Can ye hand out soup and blankets while I sort old Remy here?”
So Izzy did. As more villagers were brought in, she put blankets around their shoulders, told them everything was going to be all right, and pressed bowls of soup into theirhands. As she worked, she listened, and gradually began to piece together what had happened.
The raiders, it seemed, had attacked with no warning. She heard tales of children hidden in secret cellars, elderly couples who shielded each other from the flames, families who saved their heirlooms by burying them in the ground.
“And where are the king’s men?” the old man, Remy, asked, his voice trembling. “Why hasnae he put a stop to this?”
“Because these raider bastards are running rings around them, that’s why,” another man with a bandage covering one eye answered. “Never thought I’d see the day when we had to be frightened in our own homes! There was a time when the king’s men or the Order of the Osprey, or both, would have put this disorder down before it even started!”
There were rumbles of agreement at this.
Izzy listened as she worked, trying to take all this in. This strange time into which she’d been thrust seemed brutal and unforgiving. From what she’d heard, these villagers had no protection other than that provided by the king or this Order of the Osprey they spoke of, and that protection seemed sporadic at best. There were no police to bring order, no courts to bring justice, no doctors to bring healing. If she hadn’t seen to that young boy’s injury, what would have happened to him? She hated to think about it.
Time travel. It was impossible. And yet it wasn’t. She was living proof of that.
“He’s a fine beast,” said a voice suddenly. “Looks like he could take down a wolf if he had a mind to.”
She snapped out of her thoughts to see Snaffles sitting in front of a grizzled old man, ears alert, tail sweeping the floor. His eyes were fixed with laser precision on the bowl of soup and hunk of bread in the man’s hand.
The man chuckled. “Dinna ye worry, boy, I’ll share,” he promised, before ripping off a bit of bread and holding it out to Snaffles.
The dog lived up to his name and snaffled it out of the man’s hand in a heartbeat, much to everyone’s amusement.
“Ye’ve got quite a companion there, lass,” Morwenna said with a smile.
“I have, haven’t I?” Izzy replied, realizing it was true. He might not be her dog, technically, but he was as loyal a companion as she could ask for. And no matter how far from home she might be, she was not alone. She had Snaffles.
And Magnus, the thought flared in the back of her mind.You have Magnus too.
“Does he have a name?” Morwenna asked.
“He does. Snaffles.”
