“Me?”
“Yes.”
“I am to fight.”
“You can count before you fight.”
The betrayal on Wystan’s face was magnificent as Wulfric nodded.
“Wonderful,” I said. “Two counters. If one number doesn’t match the other, nobody leaves until you know why.”
Godwin frowned. “That will cost time.”
“Losing a child will cost more.”
Nobody argued with that as I crouched beside the hide.
“The three hunters know the main path and the second path?”
“Aye,” Wulfric said.
“The people going with them?”
“No need,” one of the hunters said.
I looked at him. He was lean and weathered, missing the tip of one finger.
“What happens if all three of you are separated from the group?”
“We will not be.”
There it was. The four most dangerous words in any emergency. I sat back on my heels.
“At a fire, when someone says something won’t happen, that’s usually when the universe starts warming up.”
Wulfric’s brows drew together.
“The universe?”
“God. The old gods. Whatever deity you pray to.”
Everyone relaxed. Apparently I was more reassuring when I blamed divine forces.
Godwin studied a half-frown on his face.
“You have strange ways of speaking.”
“You should hear me before tea.”
He looked as though he wanted to ask what tea was, but decided against it.
I moved on before we lost the morning. By midday we had a system, one we’d all built together. That distinction mattered.
Wulfric chose the routes because he knew every fold of the land. Godwin knew which families would move easily and which would argue until the Normans arrived and helped them make the decision.
Anya knew which elderly villagers could walk, which needed carts, and who would insist they could walk even when they couldn’t.
I organized the people into groups so that every group had one leader and one second. Every child belonged to a named adult. Nobody was allowed to assume someone else had taken old Gilda, who was apparently eighty if she was a day and had already announced she wasn’t leaving without her spinning wheel.
