Leif
The giant deer roasting for our supper did much to lift our moods. Willow stayed quiet, threading her fingers together or plucking at the pelt she wore around her shoulders. Yet, after all she’d been through, she appeared to accept her captivity.
When she picked at her food, Brokk shook his head.
“You will eat more,” he commanded, spearing another portion and hovering over her, arms crossed over his chest, until she gulped it down. I hid my grin. The two of them were growing closer. It didn’t matter if Brokk acted gruff and overbearing. Willow had begun to trust.
“Have an onion.” I speared one and handed it to her, still on the knife. We’d found a few wild ones and roasted them in the embers.
“I’m full,” she muttered, but when I shook the root at her, she took it and chewed witho
