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“Until we learn who they are, there is no sense in fighting them. But when they strike again, we shall be ready, and then they shall learn who the gods favor.” There was relish in his eyes as he anticipated battle. He knew it was coming; he could feel it in his bones. It was just a matter of time now.

Egon gathered up the men he had taken with him previously and told them they were going to return to the village with these new supplies. The Highlanders among them were more enthused by this prospect rather than the Vikings, who saw it more as a task. Egon made it clear that the villagers needed these supplies and reminded them that because of the promise his father had made many years ago, this was something that needed to be done. Over the years, Egon had often viewed this promise as a rash one that should never have been uttered. When Ragnar settled here and promised to watch over this clan and the neighboring villagers, he had shackled Vikings to this shore.

Erik seemed content with remaining in this place, but Egon's gaze had always drifted towards the horizon, and he felt bitter toward his father for chaining him to this place. He hoped that if he proved himself in this matter, then he might earn enough respect to be allowed to forge his own path in life. The gods did not look favorably upon those who merely followed orders, and he feared desperately that if he stayed in the Highlands, he would not be able to reach Valhalla. It troubled him that his family didn't seem concerned.

On the way back to the village, Egon thought about the conversation he had had with Caoimhe and what she had told him about her belief in the afterlife. He had heard the same thing from his mother, and he couldn't understand why anyone would want to live out their immortal lives in some meadow where nothing happened. Where was the excitement? Where was the feasting? Where was the glory? No... Although Highland blood ran through his veins, he didn't think he would ever understand them.

The journey was a little slower this time as they had to cart along the supplies. When he arrived in the village, he saw Caoimhe standing in the middle of the village alongside Sven. It seemed as though the other Vikings were not eager to leave this village. Again, Egon was bothered by the way they looked together, by the way she twirled the ends of her long auburn hair or the way she slightly leaned into him. And the way he looked at her...as though he was a predator eyeing up his prey. Was it mere jealousy that burned within, or was there something else? It was all very confusing, and he tried to shake the thoughts from his mind. With the help of the others, he unloaded the supplies, carrying the crate of clothes directly to Caoimhe, interrupting her conversation with Sven.

“I have something for you,” Egon said bluntly. Sven and Caoimhe looked at him, and he felt like an intruder.

“What's all this?” Caoimhe asked, peering into the crate.

“A gift from my father and my clan,” Egon said. “These clothes are for those who survived. We are aware of all that has been lost, and I'm sure that anyone who escaped would be grateful for a change of clothes. We also brought some grain as well, in case more people come to the village for refuge.” He gestured behind him to where Miles and Darrin were carrying sacks of grain and placing them beside a building.

“This is all very generous, thank ye,” Caoimhe said, rummaging through the clothes to see if there was anything to her liking, and continued speaking without looking up. “Is there any word about yer future plans? Is there gaeing tae be an attack against the Vikings? The longer we wait, the more likely it is that my da is gaeing tae be killed.”

“I know,” Egon said, hardening his heart to the plight of this girl. “At the moment, we have to make these people here a priority and make sure that nobody else is taken. I'm sorry that I can't promise you the things you want to hear,” he said. There was a moment of awkwardness that lingered between the three of them. Egon noticed how Caoimhe had stopped rummaging through the clothes, although she was still stooped over the crate. Egon felt as though he should say something else, but he wasn't sure what.

“Thank you for the clothes and the grain. I'm sure they will make a world of difference, but things won't be the same until those who have been taken are brought back,” Sven said. Egon frowned at him. There was something about Sven that made him uneasy. Was it just that he seemed to possess all the qualities that Egon lacked, or was it something more? Either way, Egon found himself walking away for the time being, despite feeling that he should have done more to make it clear to Caoimhe that he was not going to forsake this village.

As he walked away, he overheard Sven speaking about him. “I just don't know what to make of that man. He's not like any Viking I've ever known. He's so emotionless. It's as though he doesn't care about anyone here.”

Egon clenched his jaw and hardened his heart. Who was Sven to make judgments about him like that? Egon's feelings ran deep, but he had always struggled with expressing them in anything other than the ground of battle. He did care about Caoimhe's plight, and he would have liked to rescue her father and the others who had been taken, but what use was wishing on the impossible? He tried to be reasonable, and he tried to speak sense, but somehow...nobody seemed to understand him.