THORFINN. My child! Orm! When she comes do you bid her drink from the horn to Asa-Odin.
ORM. The fox scents against, the wind. I understand.
THORFINN. Be ready—they come.
ORM. Be not hard with the child, Thorfinn, or you will have me to reckon with.
[Valgerd and Gunlöd enter. The latter heavy with sleepiness.]
GUNLÖD. Welcome home, father.
THORFINN. Do you speak truthfully?
GUNLÖD. [Silent.]
THORFINN. You are ill, are you not?
GUNLÖD. I am not quite myself.