Restless decisions

The fire crackled softly, its light flickering across the dimly lit longhouse. Elyswith sat quietly, her hands folded in her lap, while Athelstan's voice broke the silence. He was reading from his Bible again, his tone strained with emotion.

''Where are you, Lord?'' he murmured, his eyes scanning the pages before lifting toward the heavens. ''Is it Your will that I am here, with these heathens? How does this serve You?''

Elyswith glanced at him from her place by the hearth, her brother's words tugging at something deep within her. His face was etched with conflict, his faith battling the harsh realities they faced every day.

''I don't understand,'' he continued, his voice trembling. ''This is the first time in my life I'm angry with You. You allow my brothers to be slaughtered and sold. Is this truly Your will?'' His gaze fell back to the Bible, his fingers gripping the edges of the worn pages. ''Where are You, Lord? And why don't You answer me?''

The pain in his words made Elyswith's chest ache. She stood and crossed the room, sitting beside him. Without speaking, she leaned her head on his shoulder, offering the only comfort she could. She felt his silent gratitude in the way his tense posture softened slightly.

For a moment, the quiet wrapped around them like a blanket. Then, Athelstan's head jerked up, his attention snapping toward the door. He rose swiftly, his steps cautious as he moved toward the sound that had caught his attention. Elyswith followed his gaze but saw nothing from her vantage point on the ground.

''What is it?'' she whispered, rising to her feet.

Athelstan paused, then exhaled softly. ''It's just an owl,'' he said, his voice low. He lingered for a moment longer before turning away, shaking his head at himself.

But instead of returning to his seat, he walked toward Bjorn's corner of the house. The young boy's hand resting on the hilt of the dagger he always kept near. Athelstan nudged him gently.

Bjorn stirred, blinking groggily. "What is it?" he mumbled.

''We're leaving tomorrow,'' Athelstan said firmly. ''All of us. We're going to Kattegat.''

Bjorn sat up, his eyes narrowing in confusion. 

Elyswith frowned, stepping closer. ''Athelstan, are you sure that's wise?'' she asked. Her voice wavered as she added, ''Who will watch the farm? And the children—it's dangerous to bring them on such a journey. You said so yourself.''

Athelstan turned to her, his expression conflicted but resolute. ''We can't stay here anymore, Elyswith.''

Bjorn's tired eyes sharpened, his brows furrowing. ''I told you we should have gone days ago. If Ragnar and Lagertha are returning, we need to be there.''

Athelstan nodded slowly, the decision weighing heavily on him. 

Elyswith folded her arms, her thoughts racing. She couldn't argue with Athelstan's logic—staying on the farm had begun to feel like waiting for an inevitable storm. Yet the idea of leaving filled her with dread. The journey to Kattegat would be perilous, especially with Gyda and the other children in tow.

''You're right,'' she said finally, though the words felt heavy on her tongue. ''We'll go.''

 "But what changed your mind?" she asked softly.

Athelstan looked away, his gaze distant. ''I don't know,'' he admitted. ''But it feels like the right thing to do. Maybe... maybe it's the Lord's answer.''

Elyswith didn't know if she believed that, but she nodded. They didn't have much of a choice anymore. This land had grown too dangerous, too stifling. 

As she lay down that night, the weight of the decision pressed on her. The restless land seemed to whisper of change, and Elyswith couldn't help but feel that their journey to Kattegat would be the start of something she couldn't yet foresee. Something that would change all their lives forever.