18
Fern
Night fell and Svein kept the fire burning high. He went out into the snow again and again, returning with more sticks and logs for the fire, enough to last us until morning.
I was half asleep when a long lonely note broke out from the woods. Dagg’s howl filled the world, sad and achingly lovely.
Svein growled and pulled me further into the shadows at the back of cave, placing himself between me and the sound.
“Svein,” my hands sought him in the darkness. I found his face and held it. “He is not the enemy. He is your warrior brother.”
“Not anymore.”
“We must help him,” I whispered.
Svein’s fingers bit into my skin, but he stopped growling.
Finally, the howling stopped. Svein fetched the pelts from near the fire and built a bed for us in the depths of the cave. He pulled me
