Kyrrein grunts as best he can when the men of Ekkill's group raise their voices in cheer. Wiping the blood from his longknife and freeing the string from his bow, he moves swiftly through the villiage; assuring himself that no other savages lay in ambush.

Ducking into homes that still stood against the flames, he exits with baskets of food intended for the savages own table. Meager fare; but the bread and meats would be welcomed suplement to the salted foods the vikings had packed for their journey.

He sets to work, as well, policing the bodies; even able to salvage arrows from fallen archers. Not up to his normal standards, but they would work in a pinch until he could take the time to fassion more of his own, distinct style.

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Leita

Like a spectre of the forest disturbed by the bloodshed and fires, Leita crosses the open space between the village and the woods; the fur draped around her shoulders obscuring her true size and the painted skull of a ram giving her her usual otherworldly vissage.

But clutched in a hand decorated with woven strings that dangle wooden charms, she holds the reins of the very horses she had so recently sent charging into the village with fire on their heels. Far from terrified and skittish; even the foul-tempered viking beasts follow the witch as docile as puppies.

The kite has returned to her, settled on the shoulder of one of the horses, observing all around it with a distinct aire of disdain as it preens its grey wings.

Leita loops the leather reigns once around a standing post next to a dead savage and quite calmly makes for the larger town center. The bird departs the horse and sails to perch on the witch's shoulder.

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