Wilfred was distracted from his prayer by the arrival of the Irishman who pulled the hood of his cloak down to shield himself from the rain. He sighed at his greeting words, looking back at the mound he had constructed.

"His soul will still burn in hell but I have no intention of catching a disease left as a memento of his rotting body." Wilfred grunted, pushing himself to his feet. "And unless someone was willing to go outside to find a ditch I don't think much else would happen." They had both been on the foray into the wilds earlier that day, although it felt like an age since then now, and the big Saxon knew Faolan would understand his meaning.

"Besides, it can only be good for my soul if I look after the corpse of such a cretin. God teaches us to forgive and forget... after they're dead, doesn't he?" There was a note of amusement in his tone as he walked forwards. The cold water drumming down onto his bare back and soaking the bandages had numbed the pain. It was almost so pleasant he was reluctant to return to the inside where the warmth and the lice would make his back itch as it healed.

"They do not seem to be fond of Christians but that is to be expected. Anything will be better than that dwarf's enslavement. I can work for someone who has some form of moral compass, pagan or not." He muttered as he fell into step next to the Irishman. "Not that we have much choice, do we? Nevertheless, God will protect us. That and having a good head on your shoulders." He clapped one massive hand on Faolan's shoulder as he passed, his exertions from earlier making him feel his strength for the first time in a good while.

"Let's get this over with so I can get a good night's rest. I can't be one of the injured forever."