Monsters were meant to be slain, defeated by heroes. Many beasts, creatures of the night and day were told in stories. The Norse sagas spoke of Norsemen, warriors that fought with bravery, honour that could awe the gods.
The kingdom of Francia had their own tales for Norse warriors, thieves who stole the lives of innocent villagers. Each peasant bore their personal stories for others to hear, some thought of them as traders and craftsmen who possessed skill and wisdom.
Yet the figures of war came to overshadow these good men. Halle would be one of them joining the army that would invade England and he would need a sword worthy of such battle.
An Ulfberht blade forged with the unique grip and hold for Halle’s hands alone to bear—a monster that would wield the greatest sword of the 11th century.
Made of crucible steel that no historians of the 21st century were able to comprehend how steel and iron were melted within this Medieval Period. Using charcoal or coal fires, would not produce temperatures high enough to smelt them together. So how could Ulfberht the blacksmith of Francia do the impossible, he had secrets never shared and told. Kept within his family until the day where he met Agneli’s swift hammer.
Clang
Clang
Clang
Clang
Agneli’s hammer never ended with its resounding attacks on the blade’s body, only growing softer. Fading in sound as the blade bent its shape to the blacksmith’s will, conforming into a masterpiece for battle.
Ulfberht’s awe for this Noreg blacksmith grew each time he saw him forge, the senior truly wanted this youngster as his apprentice—the last person he would teach.
Silence whispered into the room as Agneli stopped his bashing of metal on metal. The blade was done, and so was Ulfberht’s promise to Halle. A worthy sword for a worthy warrior, the senior feared what would come of the outcome of such a combination. He knew the weapon would collect lots and lots of—Deaths.
Another worry on top of the mountain of other issues that Ulfberht stressed over, but for today they would celebrate.
Most of the ale was brought out and poured into different mugs. Ulfberht and Agneli, master and apprentice gulped the beer down like water.
Grunting at the burns in their throat, they bumped mugs together and cheered not knowing each other's words, rather the beer spoke for them.
The two blacksmiths, after wasting themselves to sleep with various drinks, presented the blade flushed red still slightly with the smell of ale staining their clothes.
“Did you two drink till you would pass out?” Halle watched the two stumble on their feet unable to stand.
“Be grateful you fool! Where is my thank you?” Ulfberht boldly claimed.
Halle merely grinned, “Thank you Agneli and Ulfberht, my eyes alone are enough to see it is well crafted.”
The sun's glint reflected on the refined blade’s edge that bore the meaning of sharpness. Sharper than that of a carved dragon’s tooth, it was a sword made from the craftsmanship of the greatest blacksmith marked with Agneli’s forging ability as well. The blade had the rune of Ginfaxi, the same one as Halle’s amulet—courage.
No name of Ulfberht, neither Agneli. Only the rune laid atop sleeping on the blade that was thin and flat, but strong enough to cut at wood or dig into armour. It was everything that Halle had required.
“You have my thanks if you desire anything here in Noreg before you leave just ask. I am the son of a jarl.” Halle said, his eyes caressing the weapon’s curves as if it was his lover from a past life.
“Let me take Jehanne with me back to Francia.”
It was dead-quiet, Halle’s grin fell leaving his face cold draining any prior warmth he once yielded.
“No.”
The one word was his sole answer.
“I’ve made you the best sword, worthy of a king. It is the least you can do for me, this sword is worth more than a hundred thralls. Why must you keep Jehanne here?”
Halle swung the sword allowing it to glance under Ulfberht's face. His growing-white beard fell to the floor like feathers plucked from a petrified chicken.
“You forget your place, l am letting you free because l want to. I could keep you here forever if l so pleased because you are a thrall. I am grateful, but it is you that should understand the word more so than l.”
Leaving Agneli’s house, Halle’s hand never left the blade’s handle as it returned, kept in a scabbard attached to a belt on his waist.
He gazed at Ulfberht whose legs grew weak making him collapse to the floor. “I do not wish for a hundred thralls or more. Only Jehanne.”
He left all the coins he possessed on Agneli’s table, heavy with gold and silver. Halle strode with solitude, his companion who lurked behind his faintly treading boots. Townspeople steered clear of him as he bore a frightening sword none of them had seen, a treasure that not even the jarl wore at his waist. Gold for pommel and hilt, no scratches to spoil the blade’s handsome face of smooth steel and iron.
The sword was a beauty, but he desired more than weapons and wealth—the heart of a fair maiden.
Halle’s chest pained to see Jehanne ignore him as she marched past him, groaning to carry a basket of clothes outside the manor.
“Master, what are you doing?” She did not expect Halle’s generosity after last night.
Jehanne’s small hands were empty, as Halle brought the basket to his arms easily bearing all the weight within calloused palms.
“Training,” he responded.
“Master, you shouldn’t help a thrall.”
“Who said l was, l am merely training or are you calling your master a liar.”
“Apologies master,” Jehanne was confused. Had she not been cruel enough, did she need to be more wicked with her speech to make Halle back down.
The man in question sighed, his exhales sung every time she called him ‘master’. He missed when Jehanne called out his name when they were alone, now she grew distant, further away than the peaks of mountains. A different person to the cheerful woman, that even under enslavement could be happy.
“Master it would be best you give the clothes back to me when exiting the manor.”
Halle hesitated before giving the basket back, he still needed to maintain his status outside lest his father or the townspeople grow suspicious of their relationship. It was for her protection, but damn his privileges that he did not want. He would trade them if it allowed him to be closer to Jehanne.
Following her outside to a flowing river where she would clean the clothes. Halle helped, observing that there were no eyes to be accounted as witnesses.
“Master you should not be washing clothes.”
“The son of a jarl needs to relax sometimes instead of training every day.”
“Master please leave.”
Halle patiently waited, scrubbing the clothes with soap. “Tell me what happened first and then I’ll leave.”
“Nothing has happened.” Jehanne’s eyebrows scrunched together clearly displeased.
“You are lying to your master.”
“Apologies master.” She bowed with a sarcastic manner.
Halle sighed, “Tell me why you hate me at least.”
“I do not...hate you but sometimes I can’t help myself. That is as true as my answers will be.”
“For what reason?”
“Nothing that concerns you, master.”
“You are making me go insane. Pushing me away and calling me a monster, breaking my heart that you know desires for you and for what? Why?”
“Master please leave.” Jehanne did not wish for this predicament, she’d wanted love once now it spoiled away turning into the rotting sentiments of wrath.
“I’ll take my leave then since it seems my presence is unwelcomed. But remember this, you won’t be able to leave my side, not during the Hestavíg festival, not after this winter, not after the invasion to England. Never unless you tell me what’s wrong.”
“There is nothing wrong master,” Jehanne replied with the same answer she always gave Halle these days.
”Tell me the truth when you are ready, l will not pry it from your sealed lips even though I am a monster as you’ve called.”
”Thank you, master.”
”Ulfberht will be soon leaving back to Francia. I may reconsider your freedom if you tell me what is wrong,” Halle tried negotiating.
Jehanne’s right eyebrow raised questioning, “Would you truly let me leave Noreg if l tell you?”
”No, but you may at least try to persuade me to have a chance in leaving.”
”Then my answer is still no.” Jehanne’s tone was not gentle, harsh in defiance.
”Stubborn as a rock, come to Agneli’s home after you are done with the clothes. We will see him off before he leaves.”
The clothes were practically all cleaned spotless once Halle finished speaking, leaving no chance for Jehanne to scrub. Subdued into following behind him with no more garments to handle, returned back to the manor and Jehanne announcing her leave with Halle to the other house servants Gro and Tove.
She watched the dauntless back of Halle’s stand straighter than an arrow, his dashing shoulders that paired well from behind. Jehanne’s eyes roamed his figure and found herself lost, before regaining composure. Long had it been since they walked together.
“Jehanne l am a man of my word as you understand.”
“Yes master, l know.”
“Then I will promise you this. I swear to marry you or no woman otherwise.”
Jehanne’s face was hot, she’d nearly gasped hearing such a brash, bold and breath-taking claim. Halle had aimed for her heart and nearly stuck home with the attack, but the scars still reminded her of their statuses.
“It is beneath you for a noble one to marry a thrall.”
“Jehanne l am about to spit blood. You’ve torn my heart, and at one point l wished to rip you out of my sight when you called me a monster.”
Halle thought himself an idiot, a true fool just as Arne called him. A noble with a thrall was nonsense. But he gave one last chance as the fool he was to never regret again.
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“I admit I was furious, angry to the point where my love twisted into something disgusting.”
Halle wasn’t lying, the shadows sought to overwhelm the one flickering light his mother had nurtured to be good. It was nearly put out at Jehanne’s words on that dreadful night where words he did not wish to hear were exchanged.
“My desire is neither lust nor greed, but true love that longs for you. Damn my heart but I cannot yield it to anyone else save you.”
Sweet words of audacious claims roared into Jehanne’s heart with sincerity, as much as Halle could show.
“Will you still turn me down?”
“...Yes.”
If kindness would not steal her heart then Halle would go on his own path, one he did not wish to travel down but nonetheless had to.
“Then so be it, have it your way Jehanne and l shall with mine.”
“From today onwards you are a true thrall, one that I expect to serve my side as always. Do not expect me to be kind to you.”
“Yes..master,” Jehanne paused, happy and hurt to see Halle say the words. It was a long time coming for her to be treated the way she was meant to be, love had swayed the warrior’s mind. No longer did it cloud his judgement as he offered one final chance and won nothing.
His pride knocked down, and his heart swarmed by a glacial aura that froze before winter had a chance to arrive. No more would the flame his mother once preserved exist, absolute and complete darkness, blacker than the wings of ravens. Immortality, debauchery, corruption and sin, he would let it consume him from within.
The wolf’s bindings had loosened, Hati Hróðvitnisson’s whispers from his devil-tongue echoed louder than ever.
“Forget this woman.”
The wolf’s snarly tongue rolled with each word.
“She is not worthy of you.”
“You should ravage the Sverke’s daughter instead.”
Heard from all corners of his mind, the wolf’s notions plagued Halle once more.
“She will be more fun than this pathetic thrall.”
“Let’s kill all the English people, good, young, innocent.”
“The more the merrier.”
Hati Hróðvitnisson’s anger for Odin, the norse gods pretended to be Halle’s wrath for England. Mirroring false truths.
“They killed your mother, they ought to die.”
Each idea swelled larger, swollen like an unwanted welt on the body.
“Revenge.”
“Lust.”
“Death.”
The last thought growled from the inner slumbers of his mind which hid Hati Hróðvitnisson. His conviction blossomed as his grip on the new sword grew fiercer as well.
Halle would rid his human skin of morality to become the wolf he was always meant to be.
He did not speak or look to Jehanne any more, his steps more focused on reaching Agneli’s home where he would be done with the farewells to Ulfberht and—his past self.
Ulfberht dressed in a clean tunic, his prior markings of being bound gone on his wrist as he’d earned both Halle’s trust and Agneli not needing to be kept watch over. The senior’s smile faltered slightly seeing Jehanne and he was reminded of how incapable he was in the lands of Noreg. A Frank woman, he could not save even with all the wealth he possessed.
Agneli greeted the sombre Jehanne, he did not question what thoughts festered her mind.
The farewell was short, shorter than expected as Ulfberht hugged Jehanne and then marched to Halle offering his arm.
“This is how the Norsemen greet right?”
“Yes.” Halle's small smile raised.
The two clasped forearms not forgetting to scorch each other's faces into one another’s mind for they would not forget their time. Both gaining something from the moment that lasted for a year but swung past swifter than the changing night and daylight.
A sword, Halle gained.
An apprentice, Ulfberht earned.
Glancing back at Jehanne who kept her hands together below her stomach, pouch by her side. Ulfberht strode to her, not as a senior but a fellow Frank.
He held Jehanne’s hands under the watchful eyes of two men and he said underneath his breath, “Believe in god. Do not throw away the cross Agneli forged with passion. Even if you do not believe, know that our heavenly father always loves you.”
Jehanne’s clouds of woe lifted a bit to reveal a minor smile for Ulfberht to see, “Thank you.”
“Take care, if you ever need a place to stay in Francia if you manage to leave. My estates will always welcome you with open arms. You’ve helped me much in knowing how this brute thinks.”
Ulfberht pointed to Agneli who stood confused between the exchange of langue d'oïl. He knew very few words after being under the care of Jehanne’s teaching of her native language. Agneli would need to know how to speak it when he travelled to Francia or Normandy at least.
Pouches of food carried at their waists both donning cloaks to rid the night’s colds. Bags strapped at their back bearing blanket and other accessories necessary for the travel. Agneli would act as a guard and guide to send Ulfberht back to Francia borders. The journey would be long but primarily safe with Agneli receiving a map from Halle.
Jehanne and Halle would not see Agneli for another few weeks, he would arrive in time for the Hestavíg festival. Left alone to see the backs of their friends leave, Jehanne went back to the manor not accompanying Halle who marched into the woods. He needed more Hampr, the nightmares were growing worse.
Nights grew silent without Jehanne by his side, beads of sweat on his forehead every time he woke. Halle waited for his meeting with the Sverke tribe, he pondered what type of person the jarl’s daughter was. Kinder and more beautiful he doubted, yet Halle allowed his heart rest for love was not what he sought now. Revenge, Lust, Death, subconscious thoughts from another realm tainted him.
Hampr smoke roamed his room each time the moon raised. Soon the Hestavíg festival came with the cheers of many and the eventual bloodshed fated to come.
“It’s good to see you,” Agneli said after returning from far seas making sure his senior blacksmith reached Francia.
Halle grinned. “Liar, you're happy because you finally had the chance to travel.”
“You know me too well,” Agneli chortled slightly, refrained. He hid flowers behind his back, souvenirs from his journey.
“What are you hiding.” Halle tried to catch a glimpse of what his friend held.
“Nothing you need to know, I’ll be on my way now. Wait where’s Jehanne?”
“Preparing for the Hestavíg festival, the Sverke clan will arrive soon.”
“You don’t seem shaken, l heard news the daughter of the tribe will come as well. Does your father have any part in this?”
Halle nodded. “He wants me to meet her, l don’t know if he also wishes for me to marry her.”
The words came as a shock to Agneli as he inquired, “Will you?”
“Perhaps, I’m old Agneli. But I shouldn’t think too far ahead. I might not survive the battle to England,” Halle joked.
“Do not jest with me, you will return as the greatest warrior as promised. If you don’t I’ll behead you myself.”
“A freedman beheading his past master?”
“Why do you ask, are you scared now?”
“I don’t think you could touch a single hair of mine even if you tried, boar-face.”
“You—Come here! I’ll show you who can rip out your hair till you go bald.”
Halle merely held out his hand halting Agneli, his figure towered his friend’s height.
“Enough fun and games, those flowers. Are they for Jehanne?”
Agneli did not answer hesitating on how he should reply.
Halle had noticed them in their short banter of fighting.
“It is fine if they are for her, she is but a thrall to me.”
“You’ve changed once more Halle.”
“Maybe it is you that has stayed the same. One cannot go against time, which changes most.”
“True unless the person you are speaking on is you. Halle, we need to talk—”
“Agneli you don’t need to tell me what you are going to say,” Halle interrupted.
“But—”
“Agneli let me walk my path that l have chosen. I will fulfil our promise in due time and so shall you. Nothing else matters.”
Broad back turned to Agneli, cold and dense as stone. The blacksmith wanted to state Halle’s father may have had a hand in Jehanne’s change, yet too late were his words. His old-time friend was already gone.
The festival was already upon the Hati clan, preparations were being made from food to drinks. The festival would be held outside the town where grass laid bare untouched. Fences marked the land to create a ring of wood where stallions would be guided into.
Jehanne was slaving away in a corner of the manor, as Gro and Tove were ordering her to make more food for the feasts. The Hestavíg would not end with the show of sports, the Sverke tribe that bore guards, men and Odell and his daughter was to be welcomed with a feast for their far journey.
Surrounded by heat, flames cooked fish and simmered soup to allow flavours to lavish, swimming amongst the layers of broth that grew in leisure. Skin once fair, hands blistered from work, Jehanne did the work of thralls.
She came out of the manor to move some of the food out for the festival outside where some merchants, traders were planning to sell goods among the sea of people that awaited.
A man she hadn’t seen since Halle’s words that cut all ties to their friendship, Agneli aided Jehanne in bringing out some of the food. Loaves of bread and food for the people and ale, beer was definitely necessary for such an event.
“There’s no need for so much food, people will be more focused on watching the sport rather than eating.”
“It is for the jarl Odell from the Sverke and his daughter alongside the guards and men.”
“Ahem, l guess it is somewhat required as goodwill to them.” Agneli a man of few words for love stuttered, “I’m sorry for slapping you last time. It was a mistake.”
Jehanne’s brows raised questioning him.
Agneli continued, “I brought gifts from—”
Halle appeared from the shadows of the sun.
“Jehanne the Sverke tribe is here. We will greet them as you stand beside me. Offer bowls of water, and treat the guests in kind.”
“Yes master,” Jehanne bowed.
Halle on his way to welcome the guests with his father. Jehanne apologised to Agneli, “Sorry I have to leave.”
“It’s fine, take care. May thor’s hammer be with you,” Agneli flashed a smile. Seeing Jehanne dash back into the manor to grab bowels of water, his hands brought out flowers to the front of his chest that he was hiding the entire time.
“Dammit Halle, if l didn’t know any better I would think you were still in love with Jehanne and trying to stop me.”
Too late it was to give the flowers to Jehanne, he had just grown the courage to stand on two legs and confess his love before Halle came crashing down from Odin's skies like thunder to stop his speech.
Grouchy, Agneli would rather not enjoy the festival for without Jehanne there was no point to it. The Hestavíg was a battle between pride for jarls and strengthening alliances but also often a time where couples would watch the bloody sports together.
Maidens would grip onto their lover’s arms in fear of watching the bloodshed while other women may roar together with their partner. A bonding moment special to them alone.
Regrets more full than his stomach of ale that he drank alone in his home, he made sure to provide beer for the festival lest he gets fined a mighty amount of coins that could empty his already shallow pockets.
The townspeople gathered around as the Sverke tribe entered Hati’s lands. Not the entire tribe but ones worthy of respect. Erik Tokesson embraced jarl Odell of the Sverke clan that was far south, they traded with each other many times and their alliance had held strong built from the trust of many generations.
“Erik my comrade how are you?”
“I am well, fortunate enough to host the Hestavíg. Odell, you seem as alive as when we last met with jarl Frode from Danmǫrk.”
“Of course, my daughter is with me today and I’ll be meeting your fine son that I hadn’t had the chance to meet.”
“It is unfortunate your sons or eldest daughter Alva could not come. I hope you will like my boy, he is a fierce warrior. Do not fear in the battle to England as he will lead alongside Ulfhendars.” Erik patted Odell's back reassuring his fellow jarl.
“Indeed, with Ulfhendars beside us, l wouldn’t fear Loki even. Where are the shaman-warriors?”
“They are out training, their leader had not allowed them to participate in the festival,” Erik answered.
“That is unfortunate, l was hoping to meet one of them before we arrived at England’s shores.”
Erik nodded. He recalled how Gorm appeared nervous when he’d announced the news as he mumbled the same words over again, “I still see the same visions. I must change it. No, l will change it.”
“Apologies for my lateness jarl, l bear gifts, spoils of my last vikings. Jewellery and silk,” Halle greeted his father and Sverke’s jarl.
He brought forth his rewards that he’d reaped from the merchant ship he’d raided with Arne.
“My, your son is worthy of much praise to earn such valuable goods.” Odell slapped Erik's back happy to see gold.
“Yes...he certainly is.”
Erik lightly blushed, remembering throwing those same jewellery Odell held between his fingers at his son’s face when he returned from his prior viking.
“Let us not keep the townspeople waiting, I’ve brought my stallion for the duel,” Odell’s chest puffed out in the mention of the horse he’d trained.
“Does your horse not need time to recover from its journey? You cannot blame us if my horse maims yours to be a cripple,” Erik taunted.
“My stallion is as fierce as any on Noreg that I’ve met. A little adventure wouldn’t tire him from the real battle.”
“It is your loss Odell,” Erik shrugged his shoulders.
A smile revealed itself on the Sverke tribe’s jarl, “a win you mean after you see your stallion running away from mine.”
“Never will mine run from yours unless it yearns for a death wish and be fed to the ravens.”
The two jarls jested with mockery, a challenge of pride that sparked invisible strings of electricity with aura’s imbued with authority maintaining silence among the crowd. The two stallions were getting prepared outside the ring of fences, Erik and Odell with Halle following behind were guided to chairs with a table in front so they could watch their horses fight in peace.
Jehanne stepped up offering a bowl of water to Odell for him to wash his face.
“A beautiful thrall you have Erik,” Odell took notice of Jehanne as he cleaned his face, her features from curves to innocent expression made him want this woman as his own to corrupt or perhaps—break.
“She belongs to my son, a thrall acting as another house servant,” Erik replied, seeing Odell’s lust.
There was nothing wrong for someone to use a thrall as they pleased, karls could even wed themselves to the slave freeing the victim in question from their sentence. But nobility was a different story, they still had the same privileges, the distinction lied in reputation. A jarl or noble’s stature would plummet, upon news of him marrying a lowly thrall when women of all sorts would usually wish to get into his pants. For wealth and gold.
“I hope you know Halle, my daughter Solveig is the most beautiful in all of Noreg.”
Odell hoped to gain more power through connections with the Hati clan, the easiest way being marriage.
“Yes jarl,” Halle nodded.
“Be done with the formalities, call me Odell, treat me like another father. Who knows l may become your father-in-law,” the Sverke’s jarl laughed.
“As you so please Odell.”
“Come, come, meet my daughter, she is rather shy.” Odell was all the happier now after meeting Halle, at first he thought the son to be worthless and ignorant to ignore common pleasantries when he’d first come to the Hati clan and did not meet him.
Now he was ushering him towards his daughter who was guarded by his carefully chosen warriors that wielded iron swords and chainmail with helmets to boot. No horns mind you, Norsemen never wore such frivolous things save for in times of private ceremonies but horns held no practical use.
“Solveig come greet Halle, son of jarl Erik Tokesson. He bears gifts.”
The daughter of Odell had been given time to wash up at the Hati’s manor where her body was cleaned of sweat. Halle had yet to catch a glimpse of her until now as she gracefully walked to her father who had gotten up from his seat.
“Father is this Halle Eriksson?”
The colour of wood, darker than trees aged over a hundred years. Solveig’s brown hair and eyes enthralled Halle with the image of an innocent sheep yet to have it’s wool stained black. Donning a green dress brighter than flourishing grass beneath their feet. She couldn’t be older than eighteen winters, her skin fairer than snow.
Beauty rivalling Jehanne’s but something felt fake, a crack in an act. Halle played along not knowing who was hiding behind a false appearance, his warning senses told him Solveig was no easy prey.
“Halle it is our first time meeting, l hope you will give me the honour of getting to know a fine warrior like yourself more.”
Flattery, it appeared Solveig wasn’t so shy as Odell claimed his daughter to be.
“It is my honour to be in the presence of a gorgeous woman such as yourself.”
Flattery for flattery, two could play at that game, his curiosity was piqued. Who was this Solveig?
Between the exchanges of nobles, a thrall watched hesitant to call her emotions as jealousy, Jehanne had no right to say it was. Not when she’d been the one to push Halle away. He'd given her three chances and she denied all three striking his heart with three arrows each poisoned with the words of rejection.
“Father, you mentioned gifts?” Solveig asked.
“Apologies for my forgetfulness l was lost in your beauty,” Halle said without flushed cheeks boldly claiming it as if it were obvious.
He did not lie when he said he had given up on Jehanne. In hand, a gold necklace laced with patterns of art carving the jewellery was pulled from his pouch attached to his waist.
Solveig gasped shocked at the dazzling glints of gold that roamed the accessory.
“You’ll make a fine husband if you can offer your wife gold every day,” chuckled Odell seeing her daughter’s eyes smile as they widened with jubilation.
Halle replied, “I would hope so, Odell.”
“I have yet to meet your daughter as well old man,” Erik grumbled.
He’d taken his leave from the table to meet Odell’s daughter who’d cleaned herself with the help of house servants Tove and Gro. There was no need for a bowl of water to be offered to Solveig.
“Ah l forget, besides you’re old Erik. No need to greet every person else you may wear your aged knees.”
“She is your daughter, I have to greet her.”
“You just want to see if my boasts on how beautiful my daughter is, stands true.” Odell grinned.
Erik scowled, “You called her beauty on par with the goddess Freya, how could l not be curious.”
“Jarl Erik Tokesson, it is a pleasure to meet you,” Solveig bowed gently raising the ends of her dress to greet him.
“The pleasure is mine. I haven’t seen you since you were a baby, I hope Halle is to your likings.”
Halle noticed Solveig flush slightly. Lies. She hid her true-self well to the point Halle had nearly fallen for it as well, but he was an actor as well wearing human skin as his disguise where underneath laid a wolf. What monster did Odell’s daughter keep in secret?
“He is everything l dreamed of,” Solveig answered. Her blushed cheeks were gone as her eyes met with Halle’s inquisitive stare.
Slithering deceit met with the growls hidden behind veils.
Who would come to know each other’s true-self first? A question they both asked to themselves.