Avon asked “Is it dark out?”
Chrisween’s joyfully answers
“It’s a glorious, beautiful spring morning.”
“How do we get out of here? This place is cold and cramped, and the light is almost done.”
“Come follow me.” Chrisween replied.
Chrisween led the way, prancing, turning, dancing backwards to see if, Avon was coming; into the fresh morning sun. Avon follow cautiously, he could not see that well in the dark. Avon reaches the mouth of the den, squinted at the light of day, and shrouded his eye with his hand glance sortie for a familiar site.
“Where is this place, uh…, you said my mate, I be not knowing of this lass.”
“I am Chrisween your mate, Thor gave you to me.” Chrisween said.
Avon changing the subject said
”I, wish me had some birdies.”
“Hold fast lass, you can’t be catching birdies, you be have to make them.” Avon said.
Chrisween stopped, it hit her, she is not a wolf anymore, she be a woman, and she do not know the ways of man. She looked at Avon, puzzled, and said
“I don’t know to make a birdies, but I can catch one.”
Avon laughed saying
“I bet you can, maybe a quail or two, but be there water near”
Chrisween pointed at a spring some twenty yards away, saying
“There! I will catch you a quail”.
Chrisween darted off into the woods, after a few minutes, she picks up the scent of some quail. Getting down on all fours she edged close then pouncing, on one with her mouth wide open, her quarry flue away. Stunned that the quail got away she sat up in surprise. She said to herself that she had caught quail many time before, what went wrong? She stood up and paced around thinking that this being in a women's body is becoming a problem. Growing angry with herself and the quail she picked up a rock and threw it at the covey of quail, hitting one surprised her. She ran over a picked it up, dancing around like a butterfly, giggling “I caught one, I caught one.”
Avon kneeling at the spring, quenched his thirst, then washed his red locks. He unwound his plaid form his chest, puzzled as to how he got bound up in it. His head was starting to clear; the images of the battle came to his mind, what of James, Kyle, and Bruce. Where were they, where was he? Hearing something moving in the grass, caught his attention; looking over his shoulder he saw a wolf and Chrisween returning with the quail. Fumbling to find a rock to arm himself he shouted
“It’s a Wolf, Lookout.”
“It’s ok, she is my friend”, quickly stepping between Avon and, the wolf. Chrisween put her hand on Kathleen, the wolf, said. “See, she won’t hurt you, I call her Kathleen”. As she petted Kathleen’s head, their thoughts mingled united as sisters began coyly maneuverings Avon’s expectations.
“I caught some birdies, I will fix them for you” said Chrisween, with insight form Kathleen.
“What are you? A witch, you be friends with a wolf.” Avon spoke as if had seen a ghost.
“No I’m awe… just her friend.” Chrisween started to say druid priestess but was stop by Kathleen. Chrisween thought she could not say she was a wolf or Kathleen was the druid priestess, somewhat confused she quietly plucked the quail.
Avon baffled by all this, as he watch Chrisween build a fire and clean the quail, putting it on to cook. He stared to remember slipping away from the skirmish with the Viking raiders; then wakening in the den with this precocious lass. He wonders about this lass, she did not seem right to him. Her saying she was his mate, and he does not remember every meeting her. He watch the light of the fire dance on her auburn locks, she was mighty easy on the eyes but just a rough on his mind. He started to ask, interrupted by Chrisween hand him a blacken quail saying.
“Here is your birdie. What is your name?”
Avon took the very well done bird, tossing it from one hand to the other saying.
“It be hot, oh, awe, oh, hot…, me name be Avon of Lomond, oh, hot…“
Chrisween and Kathleen watched amused with the juggling, giggling and laughing Chrisween said.
“That birdie can still fly.”
Having cooled to handle, Avon pulled off the burnt crust and found the bird had been stuffed with wild onion, mushrooms, and lemon grass. The first bite sent shock waves of flavor changing his thoughts some of the precocious lass. Finishing the bird and stuffing he looks to see if there is more saying.
“I guess you can make a birdie. Very good is there more?”
Kathleen comments could not be heard but by Chrisween.
“Not bad for your first home cook meal for a wolf.” Chrisween thoughts, yeah with your help.
Chrisween responded saying to Avon.
“Yes, here is one more.”
Avon while feasting on the burnt offering asks.
“Where do you live? Is it far?”
Chrisween started to point at the den then pointed to the south replies.
“Over there the other side of Stonehenge in the village.”
“I think you for the fine birdies lass, but I need to see too me lads. I must be going. Where is Salisbury from here?”
“Come I will show you.” said Chrisween.
They started out of the woods. As soon as the cleared the trees Avon saw the still smoldering cart of wool and bodies. He paused for a moment in disbelief; then ran to the smoldering remains of his friends and fortune.
Chrisween and Kathleen followed; Kathleen found something lying in the tall grass and barked to get Chrisween attention. Chrisween call to Avon to come and look. Avon stops ten yards from the bloodbath. Chrisween seeing it was a sword pick it up and drug it to Avon side. Seeing and smelling the carnage she turns her back to it covering her mouth, trying not to be sick.
Avon turns around and put his arm around Chrisween savagely morns his loss. Chrisween let go of the sword to join Avon’s embrace. The sword fell on Avon foot, giving him notice of its present. The freezing rage that chilled his heart was being warmed by the passion he held in his arms. Chrisween lock in the embrace was in rapture wanting only to stay.
Avon push himself back abolishing his new found feeling for the young lass returning to the business of finding is friends. He step back and saw the claymore of Bruce lying at his feet. Grabbing it with both hands he runs screaming; swing the eleven pound four-foot broad sword chopping and hacking the charred remains of a berserker.
The load sheriff of Salisbury, and ten men in armor, arrives at the scene.
“Highlander, heal, thy sword. Are you responsible for this mess on the king’s road” demanded the sheriff.
“It was those bedeviled Viking raiders, they hit us out of nowhere, killing me lads and burning our wool.” Avon ranting and swing the sword around like a wild man threatening the Sheriff and his men.
“Cease him.” the Sheriff ordered.
Chrisween ran to Avon side grabbing his arm, the Assassins Katara mounted on her arm ready to defend her mate, with the wild menacing glare of a wolf beaming from her face.