Startled by something she is not yet able to classify, Yngvildr wakes up, yawning. She slowly sits up, feeling somewhat washed-out after spending yet another much too short night on one of the narrow benches. Gradually adjusting her eyes to daylight she recognizes what made her wake up. A huge guy, collecting his things and leaving. He is just gone, as Amalasuntha enters, slowly shuffling along through the hall, and moving very carefully indeed. Something is obviously causing her great discomfort and it is not hard to guess what...

Yngvildr watches her, intrigued. Aaah... so Gerulf is her destination.... and look how affectionly she treats the handsome farmer. I knew it, Yngvildr thinks, I saw that look in her eyes yesterday....

Apart from the two women, all who are still there are fast asleep. Several of last night's guests have left though, but some of the old regulars have spent the night, like her. She sees Widimir and Ingvoldr on the floor, clothes dishevelled, arms and legs wrapped around each other. Now they seem to have had a lovely night, those two. Yngvildr feels a pang of envy in her heart. All she had to warm her were a couple of cats. She loves cats, but cats are just cats after all.

Amalasuntha, not having noticed her, makes her way into the kitchen, lighting the fire, putting the kettle on. Oh yes, a nice cup of tea would be just perfect now... maybe she should go and help Amalasuntha a little - and give her some of that Alka-Seltzer she always carries with her for emergencies...