They spend first two nights afterwards in the abandoned house, huddling together near the fire and sleeping the sleep of deep, desperate exhaustion. Signe clutches Frigg to herself and dreams of water flowing over Dagmar's astonished face, of the terrible elation in her voice stammering "Daughter!", of her own mother and father and brother drifting away, of frigid water freezing her blood. Frigg shivers and cries in her sleep.

But they wake up together, alive and entangled.

It's almost tempting to stay in this house, away from people both good and bad, near her brother's grave, under Arvid's protecting shadow. But Signe's learned to be practical, and she knows that they won't survive the winter alone in this place, and winter is coming soon.

On the third day she makes them leave.

Frigg clutches her hand on the way, silent and suddenly fearful, and Signe is unsure herself whether she wants to see anybody, to trust another human face again, but she makes them slog on. They follow the river, down, down, in the direction Arvid had shown her, huddling exhausted and drained next to the fire every evening. Signe sings for Frigg every evening, simple songs, lullabies her mother sang her, and doesn't ask whether Dagmar sang them too, whether she sang them like this. She watches Frigg sleep, small and helpless, and tells her, tells herself over and over: I will protect you. I will take care of you. Nothing is going to happen to you anymore. All will be well. She's not sure she believes it, but she tries.

On the third day they find a village. They don't quite dare to enter it outright, make their fearful little camp far on the outskirts, watching the fires of the village with longing and fear, and Signe's entire body yearns for the comfort of a roof over her head, for the smells of food reaching them - but her heart flutters in fear. Frigg is so silent that she could be a ghost, holding onto her with cold, fearful fingers.

In the end, it's the weather that decides for them. Stormclouds gather almost without warning, the evening calm turned into pelting hail and booming thunder, and the unrelenting misery of it chases them out of their camp and down to the village. They stumble to the closest house, soaked through and small, two miserable, half-drowned shadows, and Signe pounds on the door, and hears her own voice whispering brokenly "Please, please, please, please, please, please..."

An old woman opens the door. Her face is lined with age and care, and kind. She takes one look at them and ushers them in, says, "Come in, come in, poor little things," and her husband is standing behind her with a lamp, eyes crinkling in a smile. There's whirlwind of fire and hot water and clean old clothes and food, and Signe trying to explain brokenly that she'll work it all off, tomorrow, she can be useful, she'll be so good, she just needs... her sister just needs...

The old woman (Annelen is her name, Signe will learn later) says: "Hush, child, all is well. Sleep now, dear hearts."

There's a bed near the fire, worn and sturdy and warm. Signe and Frigg fall into it gratefully, and in the shadows of the fireplace Signe sees Frigg's wavering, small smile, and says: "I'm going to take care of you, little sister".

Frigg takes her hand, and her small fingers are finally warm.

They sleep, and this time Signe doesn't dream.