Good Morning, Little Ones.

Thank you to Mel and Jill!

.: Tuttugu :.

I weigh my options. I don't have any sort of shoes on, and if I am to have any hope of escape, I need at least some provisions.

Deciding that I really cannot leave without going back first, I sneak into the long house. It's dark in here, and I let my eyes adjust to the sleeping forms around the room, the steady breaths and snores that tell me everyone is still very much asleep.

Now may be my only chance.

I move to my bed roll, gathering the leathers I've been using as foot coverings. It seemed complicated at first, when I was first shown the coverings, but now it's almost second nature to me. I pull them on, tying them up securely before getting to my feet. I pull on my apron and a leather cord I've been using as a belt around my waist, making sure my knife is secure on the belt. My stomach turns sour at the idea of having to use it on anyone, but I hope that if my life is on the line, I'll find the strength I need. I turn back to the bed roll, grabbing a fur and tucking it around my shoulders and into the belt to make sure it stays before I head toward the food stores.

I find a small leather pouch, putting strips of dried fish, a crust of yesterday's bread, and a few apples inside. I look for a flask of some kind to drink from, but I can't see anything readily available and I've already spent too much time inside.

Urgency draws me forward, pushing me toward the exit. I hesitate, glancing back at the sleeping family. The family that, despite the tremendous circumstances of our meeting, have given me food and shelter and companionship. This group of people who have been more family to me than my own family ever was.

I regret that I will never be able to adequately thank them for that.

With a deep breath, I turn and slip back outside.

…

The woods are silent, creatures having finally exhausted themselves for the night as I slip as silently as possible past the great trunks.

I don't know where I'm going, but I know where West is, so I head in that direction, hoping that if by some miracle I am still in Washington, I'll reach the sea and be able to orientate myself.

There are always people near water, aren't there?

I make a plan in my head as I walk, focusing on how I might be able to find my way back home. Despite my flicker of hope, in my gut I know better. I'm not home, nowhere close. I still don't know how I came to be here, or how I might get back, but I have to at least try.

I'm so focused on my thoughts that I don't hear it until it's too late. The snap of a branch startles me still, and I freeze where I am, my eyes frantically searching the shadows around me. The sky may still be light, but it is not bright enough to chase away the monsters of my imagination.

I scan the forest, unsure if I'm hoping to see something or not.

Another branch snaps, and I spin right, my heart squeezing in surprise and fright when I see Josurr step from the shadows.

"You frightened me," I cry, my hand going to my heart. He seems to understand because he tilts his head. In his hands, I see a broken branch and I realize he was trying to get my attention. I look back up at his face, swallowing hard. "I can't stay," I whisper.

"Bella," he says, his voice light though perhaps cautious. "Hví?"

I swallow hard, understanding his why.

"I saw…" I pause. "Edvard." I glance to the woods beside us, remembering the horrific sight I stumbled upon. I turn back to Josurr who frowns.

"Eðvarð," he murmurs. His eyebrows lift, and I see awareness in his eyes. "Runnerinn," he says, as if this solves everything.

I frown.

"No, not Rúna." I shake my head.

He grins.

"Runer," he says, reaching into a pouch at his waist. He pulls it open, slipping his hand in to pull out three white bones carved with the same markings I saw Edvard use. My mouth goes dry and I step back.

"Stop, I don't want any of this demonic practice," I whisper.

Josurr frowns at me. "Bella," he says, motioning me closer. I don't budge. He sighs, pulling more bones out of his pouch. He plucks at them in his palm, before extracting a few. He looks at me, putting the rest back. "Bíða."

I wait, as he has asked, and he steps toward me. He holds his palm out, and I glance down at the bones in his hand. "Berkanan," he says, pointing to a carving. I look at it. It looks like the letter B, though it is angled instead of curved. I glance up at him nervously. "Bella," he says, pointing to the bone.

It takes me a minute, but then I start to understand. "They are letters?" I ask, looking up at him. Josurr looks at me encouragingly. "Wait, so…" I pause, trying to wrap my head around it. "What about the chicken?"

At this Josurr seems confused, and I grunt, trying to remember the word. "Brjóst?"

Josurr smiles. "Brjóst var banað." He pauses, looking frustrated. Then he mimes something, like being attacked.

"The chicken was killed?" I ask, hesitating. Josurr looks at me helplessly. I don't fully understand what's going on, but a picture is starting to form in my mind. "These are letters, and the chicken was killed. I don't understand how they work together."

He frowns, plucking the letter B from his palm. He holds it up to the sky, his eyes shutting. It looks almost like he's praying.

He opens his eyes and looks at me. "Is it Satanism?"

When he looks confused, I feel myself relax a little bit. "You won't kill me?" I pause, trying to remember the words he used. "Banað me?" I ask, pointing from him to me.

He barks out a laugh.

"Nei," he says, shaking his head. My shoulders drop. "Koma á." He turns and points back in the direction of the farmstead. "Komheimar." I don't need to be fluent in his language to know what that word means.

Come home.

I swallow the rest of my fear and turn with him back toward the farmstead.

Back toward home.