To that poor place, at least, the Danes had not come, for the remains of food left on the table showed that the owners had fled hastily, but in panic, and that none had been near the place since.
Now Dudda would have us take poles and a net we found left, on our shoulders, that we might seem fishers daring to return, or maybe driven by hunger to our work.

For we must go unhidden soon, where the marshland lay open and bare down to the river, the alder and willow holts ceasing when their roots felt the salt water of the spring tides.

But we had been able to keep under their cover as far as the hut.
So we went towards the river, as I had many a time seen the fishers go in the quiet days that were past; and we said little, but kept our eyes strained both up and down the river for sign of the Danes.
But all we saw was once, far off on Stert, the flash of bright arms or helm; and there we knew before that men must be.
On Combwich hill was no smoke wreath of the outpost fires I had feared, nor could I see aught moving among the trees.

Then at last we stood on the river bank and looked across at the little haven.

All the huts were burnt and silent.