Thorhild spoke thus:
Weary Thorhild, weaves her grim path,
Through the maimed and broken bodies,
Muscles aching, bruised limbs paining,
Lays aside her stout-bow, loyal-bow,
Jarl-loyal, age-worn, fight-worn healer.
Search for hope-signs, life-signs, breathing
'Mongst the blood-mire, Ringmeres war-field.
Salt-sting recall, Maelduns marshes,
Bryhtelm limbless, blood-pool, death-pool,
Dull eyes, dead eyes, trampled fair-face,
Safety crushed, despair clouds, dark clouds,
Filled the huge East Saxon sky.
How she wept till daughters found her,
Weeps no more for wanton slaughter,
Stern faced, dry eyes, keen eyes searching.
"Thorhild, tend us," Jarls voice pleading,
Drags her thoughts to present needing,
Ousekjarr gathers, none are slaughtered,
Thank their gods for smiling fortune.
Thorhild with her stiff hands, good hands
Binds the wounds of doughty Eirik,
Cuts from Gaas the iron-tipped bow-shaft,
Cleans the spear gouge, Keldas bright blood,
Staunched with herb-skill, gently seeping.
Soothing salve for matchless Magnus,
To Mildthryth gives a draught of cheer.
Then renews her searching, questing
Gold-disc sinking, shadows lengthen,
Strong willed, heart-sure, healer searches,
Though her hearth folk bid her homewards,
Amongst the man-waste, butchered crow meat,
One more life she knows she'll find.
Keen eye caught by yellow garment,
Spread against the gory meadow,
Stoops to tend this grey-beard warrior.
"Come away now, death has claimed them."
Eyes as green as autumn whale-road,
Flicker 'neath the bloodied war-helm.
"No, not this one!" heart-beat, forge-sure,
"Get this body off him! Ottar,
Ordlaf, help me," implores Thorhild.
Ousekjarr strength lifts boulder body,
Off the chest of corn-hued warrior,
Bears him to a place of safety,
Place of resting, healing, comfort.
Long days, long nights, fevered stupor,
Racked his body, stole his mind.
Whispered words fell from his dry lips,
'Ingolf. Gudrun. Take the steerboard.'
Strong hands, lean hands clutch the blankets,
'Where is Edmund? Step up. Weasel.'
Steadfast vigil Thorhild keeping,
'Signy, Signy', he repeated,
'Til bright day, bright dawn, green eyes open,
Tells his tale, world-weary warrior,
Thorgrim Islendingr his name.
Now at Ousekjarr strength returning,
Herb-lore calming, muscles easing,
Through Eirik, seeks to know the fen-land,
With Mildthryth helps to harvest grain,
Regains his sword skills, 'gainst the good folk,
Hearth folk, new folk, spirits bonding,
Learns his way forward again.