Harald struck his broken knife against the stone trying to get the spark to land on his last shred of dry tinder. It did and a tiny flame flared up. He put twigs on the fire, then larger sticks. He split sticks with his knife and put them split side against the flames. He added ever larger pieces until the fire grew strong enough to hold its own against the half rain, half fog soaking them to the skin.
"If I'd known you were expecting," he said, "I would have not been so insistent we walk the entire distance."
"If you hadn't decided to walk." Sarandia held her hands out to the heat. "We would not be alive to shiver in front of this marvelous fire."
"This penance has been nothing but bad luck," Harald picked up more wood to split, "with the ship sinking and all our gear being lost. I don't know how we will get an audience with the Holy Father without the letter from the Archbishop."
"You have your ring." Sarandia smiled at him. "Trust yourself, trust God."