“I just think someone ought to sail with Bjørn,” Ralf argued. “Bjørn’s doomed,” wheezed Thorkell. His white hair and beard fluttered in the breeze, and his pale blue eyes blinked and watered. “That’s right!” Harald nodded. “He stole from the sea. Now he’ll pay the price. You think any of us want to pay it with him?” He glanced up and saw Hilde crossing the shingle towards them. He paled. “She’s got that creature with her, hasn’t she? The seal brat! I’m off!” And he hurried away up the strand. Hilde watched him go, with a disgusted toss of her head. “Where’s Bjørn?” “At home, they tell me.” Ralf got up. “Well, Thorkell, we’ll go and knock on his door. Won’t you come too?” Thorkell shook his head. “No, no. I’ll have nothing to do with him.” His pale eyes grew wide. “The draug boat’s a-following of him, Ralf, drawn after him like a raven to a fresh carcass! Aye, it’s a-smelling out death; and it’s drawing closer. But you won’t be told.
