The dawn of the next day broke with utter silence over the beached longboats, only disturbed by the occasional clanking of ropes against the mast. There were people stirring as Ish surveyed the land from the bow with an arm snaked around the mighty carved head of the dragon. The waves were a dreary grey as they lashed the coastline and some way before them, Ish could just make out the shapes of their scouts as they left the beaching site to figure out where the enemy was.

Enemy.. It was hard to think this, but it had to be such. By the side of the Danes, Ish had fought numerous battles, carried her share of scars and dealt death to those that might or might not deserve it. Such was war. Anger flared up in her sapphire eyes, anger that her hand was forced into this situation. But choose she must, and chosen she had. Here was her place, the Lord had carried His burden, so she would carry her own.
The Englishwoman jumped from the side of the ship and found a quiet place, pulling a golden chain fron her armour, the crucifix at the end of it glinting slightly. She held it tightly in her hands and knelt, bowing her head in prayer.
The Vikings setting up the makeshift camp knew their Queen and her habits and stayed away, leaving her to her spiritual communication.

Light had strengthened when Ish rose and rolled her shoulders to relieve her aching muscles. The anger had dulled to annoyance, but she knew that battle would focus it once more. Carefully she tucked the crucifix back into her shirt and made sure that the armour lay properly. Having sought her peace with God, she was satisfied that come tomorrow, her son would still have a mother.