When she came back from her cottage, he was surprised that in addition to the comb, she also held a waterskin and a pair of scissors.
“What are you going to do with those?”
“Your hair wants cutting. And a wash.” She reached out, picking out a leaf-fragment. “If you’re not careful, birds are going to start nesting on top of your head.”
“Is it really that bad?”
One corner of her mouth lifted in a smile. “Even sheep get sheared once a season, Harald. Now,” she ordered, lifting the waterskin, “tilt your head back.”
Grimacing, he obeyed, then gasped as she dumped the contents over his head. “Oy! That’s cold!”
“Oh, don’t be such a baby.” Humming tunelessly to herself, she began combing through his damp locks, pausing to unsnarl tangles and to pick out bits of twig and straw, sometimes comm
