Hild nodded in answer to his question, wishing she had a precise year to give him. It bothered her that no one seemed to recognize the name Edwin or the kingdom of Northumbria. (It was only a small blessing that no one easily recognized the names of their enemies either.) Her ability to read English was comparable to that of a small child's, in this city: slow and careful, easily stymied by mysteriously constructed English words. As a consequence she had not had the chance to read many books on history and could not pinpoint her place, and her people's place, in the time. When it came to conversation such as this one, it made her feel adrift and without a place.

"Every thing is different," she admitted. Hild smiled ruefully and nodded at his weapon. "Even a bow." It was a shape that she could recognize easily, but the form was slightly different, not the long, smooth-shafted bows of home, which required so much strength to bend.