Apparently being the village lord meant never knowing when a meeting might suddenly require stabbing.
His fair hair was tied back, and he had a serious case of morning stubble. I was annoyed with myself for noticing.
Godwin stood beside him, along with two hunters and Wystan, who straightened the moment he saw me.
His gaze went to my clothes, then my feet. “You look less strange.”
“Thank you, Wystan. You remain exactly as strange as yesterday.”
His ears reddened as Godwin coughed, and Wulfric’s mouth moved into that almost-smile again.
I pointed at him.
“I saw that.”
“You saw nothing.”
“Mm-hmm.”
He looked back at the hide. Lines had been scratched across it in charcoal. It was a furry map.
I stepped closer. “This is Ashford?”
“Aye.”
The children and elderly would go north through the forest with three hunters. A second group of adults would move livestock farther west. Food stores had been divided so one discovery wouldn’t cost them everything. The southern road was watched, as were the paths from the coast.
The fighters knew three places where mounted men would have difficulty moving.
“How many people go north?”
“Forty-three,” Godwin said.
“Exactly?”
He looked offended.
“Yes.”
I scratched at my arm where the wool itched.
“Who counts them?”
“Oswin.”
One of the hunters nodded.
“And if Oswin dies before they leave?”
Wulfric sighed.
“You always begin with death?”
“No. Sometimes I work up to it.”
Wystan looked alarmed as I pointed at him.
“He counts too.”
