"Get up," her voice sounded over Philip. He jolted awake. The crow sat on her shoulder, content with preening his feathers.
"Aren't crows the sign of death here?" Philip asked, rubbing his sore neck.
"They are." She answered, not even looking at him. She busied herself with backing up her things. And hoisted them onto her saddle.
"So why do you have one as a pet?"
"Why do you shave your head? Because you want to." She answered. Philip was about to tell her that it wasn't because of that, when she glared at him. "Get up, we are leaving." Philip staggered to his feet, which was difficult bound.
She saw his distress and sniffed.
"Not yet Christian, I don't trust you." He gave her a sly smile. But she bared her teeth at him like a wolf. "Come on." She yanked at his collar and lead both him, and the horse through the woods.
It was hard for Philip to keep her stead pace, how did she manage it with a sword at her belt? And all that armor?
"Why do you shave your head Christian?" he could tell it was curious, if not jokingly a question.
"It is to honor God."
"So he tells you to?"
"Well, no,"
"Then why do you?" Philip glanced at the crow on her shoulder that seemed to eye him as they went.
"I don't know really."
"I think it is childish, surely your God wants you to have hair." There was a pause. Philip sighed.
"Maybe he does," he muttered under his breath.
As they continued the crow seemed to be eyeing him more and more. It finally flew from his mistress's shoulder to the horn of the saddle.
"What is his name?"
"His name Huginn," She answered glancing back at her companion. There was a sheik from the trees as another crow came down to join Huginn on the saddle. "That is his mate, Muninn. She does not like me as much."
"Thought, and Memory, Odin's ravens names." Philip observed. She frowned looking back at him, the darkness of the night swallowing up what showed on her face.
"You know a lot about us Christian. How is that?"
"I traveled, as a monk." Philip answered, slowly tearing his eyes from the pair of crows on the saddle. "And how do you know so much about Christianity, you speak as though you know all about it." She was silent for a while, trudging over the soft earth in the night.
"Maybe I do know all about it." She said flatly, forbidding any more questions.
Philip tugged at the thick rope binding his neck, then started at a shadow moving by him. All the woods seemed to dance in the shadows of the night. He saw another movement to the other side. But Kydea kept moving forward. He must be imagining things.
"How old are you?" he asked. Trying to keep his voice high enough for the wild animals in the woods to be scared off.
"Old enough," she muttered.
"So seventeen about?"
"About," She complied. "And you?"
"Twenty seven summers this fall." He said quietly. He had been serving as a priest his whole life, he had served God until the day he was captured.
"Does your God take care of you?" Kydea asked. Philip looked forward at her.
"I always thought he did, but now-"
"Now what? Has that changed?"
"I was taken capture by your people, so yah, something has happened."
"You doubt your God so much that you do not even trust him in the trials he gives you?" she spat, Philip reddened in the night. He had never thought of it that way.
Kydea made them continue until Philip was sore, and half mad with seeing the shadows flint by in the dark woods.
Finally, they stopped and she set up camp, Philip falling beneath a tree.
"Where are we going?" he asked as she started the fire.
"Never you mind," she snapped. "Now get some rest."
A shadow moved to his right, he jumped to see a form as it slunk up to the fire. He was so stunned, that the big, furry animal glanced at him, his eyes deep and evil. It was a wolf.
Kydea glanced up at Philip and laughed.
"Scared Christian? Relax, he does not kill people," she thought a moment. "Unless I tell him to."
"Another one of your, ah, friends?" Philip asked, plastered against the tree trunk.
"It is just Freki, her mate Geri does not like people, he patrols for me around the fire now." Philip saw a hulking shape bigger then the first wolf flit by his vision, a growl softer then ice from somewhere beyond his sight.