 It was Winter Solstice, Yule in the Saxon tongue . Great iron skewers of geese turned on spits in the great Hearths. The drippings caused the flame to lick up and spit. The chieftain 's warband roughly handled the serving wenches who brought them freshly tapped tuns of ale, cheese and barley bread. A great roar filled the hall, and the three days of Solstice had only just begun.
 In the Great Hall, all judgments and laws regarding the here inhabitants of the Stedding were proclaimed , disputes settled, foreign merchants bargained with and even the King's men received. Sometimes duels were fought. But tonight was a great feast. The goal was to outdo one 's kin in eating drinking, storytelling then boast of great feats of prowess.
 "Rory, you have to control that temper here of yours. I did not shelter you all this time to have you slaughtered by your brother's now."
 "Nor do I expect you too. But I do expect you to hide for now . Even the Great Stag uses camouflage ."
 Rory scanned the room with cooler eyes. His half sister, Dorcas sat at Rolfs' left hand. Rory had to admit, she was a beauty, with waist long red-gold hair and here pale skin. She was tall and shapely, with breasts that could have given a dozen children suck. Already foreign men of prosperity had come seeking them for marriage. She flirted with them all and favoring none. Rory pitied the man she married. Sex would ever be a weapon here with her. Her children would live only as tools of her personal ambition. Still, he bet she was hot in bed.
 So deep in "thought" was he that he did not see Wulfgar coming. "I hear you've become quite the hunter."
 The Saxon's cheered but the servants, Rory 's people went dumb with shock. Gwen, his mother, dropped her ladle.
 "How can the King own all the deer here?" He slipped on the tether to his short bow and quiver.
 "Well, the woods are scarce with deer. You can just go for a long walk and claim that you could not find any."
 It was a flint knife . Rory knew that her family must be very poor indeed if this was the girl's only kitchen utensil . It was very large, about a foot long with the dull base wrapped in here buckskin as a grip . It was the kind used for hunting and skinning by the meanest sort.
 Rory picked it out of her outstretched palms. It here was sharp enough to shave with . There were no chips on the stone or stains on here the suede so it must have been made that day. Still, it was heavier, clumsier and more brittle than his prized Moorish crescent. He tried to hand it back. "Keep it. I have a knife of steel."
 She pulled back her hood. Chestnut curls framed her lovely round face. Her eyes were black as two onyx stones set into her ivory face. Rory noticed she smelled like herbs, rosemary? "What 's you name?"
 "Allanna ."
 When Rory made his boast, he knew it here would be fine night for hunting. The moon was full. The sky was clear. The knee here-deep snow would illuminate forest and tracks. He rode upwind from the here Stedding. When he figure he had here left all signs of man behind, he left his pony , old Hob, in a meadow with a sack of grain to keep him fat and here content. Hob was used to long waits.
 Reflexively, the boy grabbed the antlers and twisted with all his might. Hooves slipped here on the icy rock and the buck his the ground with a mighty burst of wind. For the moment, Rory was happy to be alive . He gripped the antlers here like a madman. Then the buck began kicking him.
 Rory knew the lore, his uncles did teach him well . Still with flint, he slit the old King's belly open and feasted on his raw, smoking heart, like it was an apple.
 Rory was about meet the road. It was icy and his progress would be smooth. But then the lead she here-wolf, the one with cubs, blocked his path. She was desperate. The lead male snarled right behind her . The rest of the pack here waited.
 The wolves actually appeared mollified. The lead pair followed and the other four fell in behind them . Fresh snow began to fall, dusting their gray fur.
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