It'd been weeks since Bryn departed for Snærheim. Despite the time, the townsfolk avoided the spot the mage had been, even after Ulris took down the poles and the bucket. Meanwhile, Dyla grew bigger and bigger.

The distraught woman refused to leave the estate grounds. When Ulris and Nelly could convince her, she would walk the newly planted garden, but it held no interest to her. Her sleep was restless, she would cry out at night, screaming for Bryn. She had nightmares of black robed mages mingled with green robes and blue surrounding Bryn. Of him dying under the influence of every element. She would see them turn to her and her running. Of them tying her to a cold slab of stone.

One evening, she had a surprise visitor. Harold, now twelve, stood by the garden gate as she walked among the morning glories. He stared at her and her huge belly. Silently, he entered the garden and walked with her. They walked without a word for ten minutes before Harold finally spoke, "Father is sending me away."

Dyla didn't answer.

"He wants to send me to the capital with the steward for the prince's birthday. I don't know why, the prince is only two, it's not like he'll remember me being there."

Dyla didn't answer.

"I know why, he wants to meet the other Jarl's sons and daughters that will be there. But I don't want to."

Dyla sat on a stone bench and Harold sat next to her.

"I'm scared to leave home. I'm scared to meet the others. What if I make a fool of myself?"

Finally, Dyla answered. "Fear is not the worst thing. I used to think it was. Not knowing is the worst thing."

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Harold slowly moved his hand gently onto Dyla's stomach. She let him. After a moment, he quickly removed it and slipped off the bench. "I made up with Lor. I went to his sister and she helped. We're friends now."

He climbed over the fence and ran off. Dyla closed her eyes. Not knowing is the worst thing...

She thought back to the last time she'd sat with Harold. ‘You can either let what happened knock you down forever, or decide to never let yourself be knocked down again.’

She gripped the stone bench. She didn't know and she was afraid, but that was because she depended on Bryn. How could she be by his side if she clung to him and dragged him down? She had told him she didn't fear death. Then why was she afraid?

Bryn would return or would have died fighting. She would be here or she would have died fighting. Even if they were apart, that bound them together. No matter what happened, they knew their paths. Dyla walked back to the house and that night slept peacefully for the first time since the mage had arrived.

Bryn returned not two months after he had left. The townspeople scattered like sheep as he walked through the streets. Ulris greeted him at the door, taking his pack and babbling about the estate. Bryn ignored him and strode to the bedroom. He opened the door and Dyla was sitting on the end of the bed, holding a ragged blue piece of cloth. She did not look up.

Ulris shut the door, leaving them alone. Bryn took a step forward and Dyla flinched. He made an angry rumble. "What's wrong, woman?"

She didn't look up but answered, "I am ashamed of myself. I let fear get the better of me."

He stepped closer and she stiffened. "I went to Snærheim."

"I know."

"I warned the mages to stay away."

"I know."

"Then I came back."

He was right in front of her, she could smell the earthy scent of travel on him. "You were afraid?" he asked.

Dyla nodded, but said, "I was. But then I realized it didn't matter. Whether we die together or apart, we would die the same way."

He tilted her face up until he could see her green eyes. "Then, my woman, nothing is wrong."