He did not understand their speech, but he gathered he was being asked his errand.
"I am Biorn," he said, "and my father was Ironbeard, the King." They shook their heads, but since they saw only a weary, tattered boy they lost their fears.

They invited him indoors, and their voices were kindly.

Nodding with exhaustion, he was given a stool to sit on and a bowl of coarse porridge was put into his hands.

They plied him with questions, but he could make nothing of their tongue.
Then the thrall rose, yawned, and dropped the bar over the door.

The sound was to the boy like the clanging of iron gates on his old happy world.