It was a long time before Jarl returned. By then Fenrir had cut down the deer and butchered it, lashed a few tree trunks together to lean against the entrance as a makeshift door, and built up a fire. I’d slept in the bed again, waking with a start when Jarl stomped in.
Jarl threw down a brace of dead pheasants, glowering at everything and nothing. I shrank into the bedding.
Jarl stopped before me, tossing a few long strips of leather onto the bed.
“Run again and I will hobble you,” he said, looking pointedly at the leather ties. I glared down at them. What more could I do?
Fenrir set about plucking and spitting the pheasants to roast over the fire. Jarl stomped to the wood pile and started savagely thrusting logs into the fire.
Fenrir glanced at me, his mouth twisting in sympathy. “H
