Yensen

“Bloody Vikings,” Norgren chuckled in memory. He was snuggled against the breast of the woman he loved and listening to the soft sigh of her breath. He felt so at peace here, there arms entwined and all other cares seemed so far away.

“Bloody Vikings,” again he relived her gentle teasing over his and his fellow seafarers’ ways, “always gallivanting here and there and getting up to Thor knows what.” She would chastise him before each sailing to go a Vikin, but, on his return, she was always gleeful to see what riches they had brought back. After the rejoicing and feasting, she would lead him to bed and make love with a passion to make up for every night away. Afterwards they would lie together like this, floating as if with the Gods.

“Bloody Viking,” Norgren winced. This time the memory came with a sharp stabbing pain. He frowned; it wasn’t supposed to be like this… it shouldn’t be like this… he didn’t want to be here… he wanted to be in Her arms, to feel the soft warmth of her bosom against his face.

The kick seared into his side, “Don’t you die on me, you bloody Viking.”

“No, no, nooo”, again he challenged the now nagging voices in his head.

Norgren felt his head shaken, then gasped in pain as his arm was tugged. “What the f**k,” he cried out, his eyes opening in startled recollection of reality.

The boy looked down at him, his expression of desperate fear, “Don’t die you bloody Viking.”

“I may be bloodied, but there’s only one can call me a bloody Viking and get away with it,” Norgren found his voice and tried to sit up. The pain shook his body as if it was acid that coursed through his veins. He lay where he was, “Who are you?” He croaked.

“Yensen,” replied the rude awakener and Norgren began to recognise the features of the cabin boy who had been found earlier being chased by the monsters of Maelbrook. He had foolishly jumped ship when they had landed and hidden whilst they unloaded. The crazy lad actually wanted to join the fight to rescue the Knights they had come to help. He wasn’t even armed when the scouting party found him running for his life from the demons. They had fed him, armed him and indeed, he had fought. With an axe in his hand he showed a wild spirit that no one had imagined he possessed when he had been meekly sweeping the decks. But then he had disappeared from camp, almost as suddenly as he had appeared. He’d taken to exploring the perimeter too eagerly and they assumed that one of the fighting rats had got the better of him.

Yensen cupped some water from the stream and poured it over Norgren’s mouth. He choked and spluttered, but appreciated the few quenching drops that made it to his throat.
“More,” Norgren said, “but don’t bloody drown me this time!”
Norgren drank all that was offered like a camel refuelling at an oasis. Satisfied, he turned to the boy, “what happened to you?”
“I was in the forest exploring when I saw some scaven stalking me. I ran back to the camp, but I must have made a bad turning and I got lost. I couldn’t count them all, but there were too many to fight, so I just ran like the wind. I came across a cave and decided to hide in it a while. I fell asleep and when I woke this morning I tried to find my way back. Then I saw the smoke coming from over there,” Yensen pointed to where the defensive perimeter was and the final battle had been, “so I decided to investigate. That’s when I found you.”
Jensen paused and looked down at the mud, his voice faltered, “I thought you were dead, you’ve been out cold. I’ve been prodding you for ages.”
Norgren figured as much, he felt a whole new set of bruises down his side, “this cave of yours is it dry?”
“Yeah, mostly,” Yensen answered, “it has a trickle of water running along one side, but there’s a big slab of dry rock that I slept on.”
“Do you think you can find your way back there?”
“No problem,” the boy chirped gleefully, “It’s a couple of miles back along the bottom of those cliffs,” and he pointed in the direction, “it’s not easy to spot though, unless you know it’s there, there’s a big bush covering the entrance.”

The rain water run off was now depleted to a mere trickle and Norgren lay only in the mud. Earlier, the torrents running from the bluffs of the cliffs had cut the escarpment in which the two stragglers found each other.
“Can you get me up,” Norgren eased his good arm back to push and the lad helped pull him.

After some puffing and panting he was in a sitting position. Finally upright, Norgren took in the scene around him. The embankment that he had rolled down was barely four feet in height, but with the pain he’d felt during the decent, it had felt at least thrice that. Even so, cold, hungry and in only marginally less pain, he didn’t think he could climb back up the muddy wall. About fifty yards upstream and on the opposite bank, the edge was barely a gentle slope.
“Come,” Norgren said, “let’s get out of here.”
Putting his arm around Yensen’s shoulder, he allowed himself to be led across the stream.