Bright and early the next morning, Oskar bid the siblings LiljaKnut farewell, and the caravan continued on its way to Guldhamn. It would have been a welcome pause to stay in Brofäste for a few days, but time was not on their side. At least their trip was about to become a lot easier. Vilhelm had advised them to travel along the water’s edge even when there was no road. According to him, the ground was surprisingly smooth. This claim held true. Where there was no paving nor dirt road, the banks offered a mostly even grass plane with the occasional shrubbery. By evening, they had made it so far south that Brofäste was gone from view.

The water running by in a steady stream was most inviting. A good portion of the soldiers opted for a swim, or at least a dip to wash and freshen up. Sylvia was not about to deny herself the pleasure, either. After setting up the tent, she left her clothes and walked down to the edge of the water. Wading out a few steps, she found an edge where the river bed suddenly fell and became far deeper. She sat down and shuddered. It was a cold day. Autumn was progressing. The same yellow leaves which could trick an eager mushroom hunter in the woods were now floating by in droves. Taking heart, Sylvia shoved herself past the edge in the river bed and swam out a few arm lengths. She was not a practised swimmer by any means, but her mother had made a point of teaching her and her sisters in the roaring waters of spring. Anything to keep them safe.

Sylvia kept swimming until she grew accustomed to the cold, and eventually she began to feel warm again. The sun shining in her face and the strenuous movement helped. Finding the edge again, she climbed up to fetch her soap. Sitting on her knees in the soft mud, she took her time washing her hair and rinsing it out again. The feeling of the water gently washing through her curls and caressing over her scalp was delightful. A breeze came in from across the river and she shuddered. It was time to get up before she caught a cold.

Afi was a lot less enthusiastic about the cold. He washed efficiently and then wrapped himself in a blanket as quickly as possible. Goosebumps covered his arms.

Yri amused herself at his expense. “I thought you came from Isbäcken?!”, she called.

Afi merely grumbled and left the women to themselves.

“Are we sure he is a Wolf?”, Yri laughed.

“Not any more. He has lost his bite”, Thorun quipped back.

“He still has the mark, though”, Kvist commented flatly.

“You cannot ask him to mutilate his chest further for the sake of aesthetics”, Thorun argued.

“Can I not?”, Yri challenged.

She sat down in the water and let her hair down. It cascaded over her shoulders and chest, obscuring the broad scar at its middle. She traced her fingers over the burn, before pulling more of her hair to the front to hide it.

Thorun sat down as well, and relaxed for a moment before washing. Squeezing the water out of her hair, she paused. Watching her distorted reflection, she let her hair fall over the right side of her head. The scars barely showed through the gaps. She inspected herself for a moment and then brushed her hair to the left again.

“You look much better with them”, Una commented.

“Cheeky. You do realise I am not a damsel you can woo with sweet words.”

“Really?”, Una asked. “What a shame. I have plenty of sweet words to offer.”

“I bet.”

Clean and moderately dry again, Sylvia joined Afi at their tent. She dressed and followed his example, wrapping herself into a blanket to warm back up. She watched the men and women take turns to bathe. Some mixed in and jested merrily, while others were careful not to catch a glimpse of their companions. Some covered themselves, even if it meant getting their clothes wet. Amused by the contrast, Sylvia took mental notes on the behaviour of the different soldiers. Generally, the further north their home, the more hesitant they were. Oskar was among the most hesitant. Born to a fine northern family, he had been taught strict manners. Only when the sisters were done bathing and had redressed, did he approach the water with his guards.

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Sylvia’s eyes fell on a ghostly white form. Theodorus had shed most of his clothes. He was brighter than anyone Sylvia had ever seen. His skin was like chalk. It did not look very healthy. When he stepped into the water, he turned blue at the ankles. Had it not been for this colourful reaction to the cold, his skin would have been a perfect winter camouflage. He was generally a very curious sight. He was well trained, but he was not as bulky as his comrades. His arms and legs were muscular, but he had barely any fat on his stomach. Every muscle was clearly outlined even when he was relaxed. Sylvia wondered what could cause such a physique. Was he not eating enough?

As strange a sight as Theodorus was, most notable was the fact that he was still wearing his mask. Sylvia could not bring herself to take her eyes off him. She observed him when he crouched down to wet his soap. His movements rippled the water around him and distorted his reflection. He let his bony fingers run across his skin, leaving a sheen of lather behind, and finally waded out further and dipped under the surface to wash it all off. He was surprisingly clean to begin with. How he managed that on a lengthy ride such as this, Sylvia had not the slightest idea.

When Theodorus re-emerged, he ruffled a hand through his long white hair, before smoothing it back and pressing most of the water out. He slowly waded back out of the water. His underwear clung to his crotch, hiding nothing. This did not seem to bother him in the slightest. He did not hide behind a towel as Oskar and Tone did. To the contrary, after slipping into a pair of shoes, he walked straight toward Sylvia. Water was running down his body, glistening in the sun. His skin was smooth even now. Not a single goosebump had formed despite the cold dip and the gentle breeze.

Reaching Sylvia, he stopped and smirked. “Who said it was rude to stare?”

Surprised, Sylvia laughed. “I had not realised that you noticed. However, I was not staring”, she declared.

“Oh no? What exactly were you looking at then?”

“You. But I was merely observing.”

“Ah, I see. Observing. That is different than staring, of course”, Theodorus chuckled.

“Naturally”, Sylvia nodded.

Grinning widely, Theodorus leaned down to her and whispered into her ear, “If you ever want to observe more closely, you are welcome to join me in my tent. Just know that I will observe you as well.”

A few drops of cold water fell onto Sylvia’s arm and she shuddered.

“Back off, Creep”, Afi warned.

Theodorus held his hands up before himself, motioning defencelessness, and took a step back from Sylvia. Looking to Afi, he played with the metal under his tongue. Then, he averted his gaze and bowed theatrically, before taking his leave. Intrigued by his eccentric behaviour, Sylvia looked after Theodorus for a long moment. The call she had been waiting for sounded in the distance, but her attention was glued to Theodorus. Even when he disappeared between the tents, she struggled to take her mind off him. She held a hand over her chest. It seemed Theodorus had taken a firm hold of her soul and forgotten to let go when he turned his back.

Afi nudged Sylvia gently, snapping her out of her haze. “Sylvia. Aimo is back.”

“Right. Yea.” Sylvia sprung to her feet. “Get us some dinner. Frida said something about chicken soup. I will be back shortly.”

Nodding, Afi went to fetch food. In the meantime, Sylvia headed for Aimo’s wagon with hurried steps.

“Young Sylvia. What can I do for you today?”, Aimo greeted.

“You know how to carve, right?”, Sylvia asked.

“You mean wood carving? Yes, I know a little. Do you need something?”

“I need instruction.”

Aimo’s hummed in thought. “An exchange of services rather than goods, hm? Very well, if you teach me sewing as payment.”

“Sound fair”, Sylvia agreed.

“One hour for one hour”, Aimo clarified, and they shook on it.

Leaving Aimo’s side, Sylvia made her way back to her tent. When she passed through the middle of camp, her eyes found the generous square tent which belonged to Theodorus. She raised a hand to her chest again, but there was nothing, no sensation guiding her toward or away from the tent. Frowning, she slowly ambled closer. The feeling of captivation did not come back, but she was undeniably tempted regardless. She stopped just short of the tent and listened. There was a shuffle of cloth. Theodorus was definitively inside. Taking a slow breath, Sylvia shook her head. Something about Theodorus drew her, but it was not as simple as physical attraction. It was not his looks. It was not his skill. It was him. The very being Theodorus was slippery and entrancing. Curiosity crawled through Sylvia, but she turned away. Afi was waiting for her.

During their continued trip to Guldhamn, Sylvia taught Aimo a basic stitch, which he could use to sew on patches or close a gap in fabric, and Aimo showed Sylvia how to hold her dagger and the wood she wished to shape. He soon realised that their deal was not entirely fair. Sylvia picked up the new craft a lot quicker than he did. By the time they neared Guldhamn, Sylvia was satisfied with the instruction and focused on carving a project of her own, while Aimo would still need assistance with anything more advanced than replacing a button.

Loosing Sylvia's attention did not bother Aimo, though. Having a good relationship with a mind that sharp was always an asset. Whatever path Sylvia took in life, he could count on her if he needed a good deal in the future, and he knew from experience not to underestimate the value of such a bond.