Good Morning, Smár Einn!
Thank you to Mel and Jill!
.: Tuttugu ok Tveir :.
The house is busy, the morning chores in mid swing when we return. Eydís scowls at me, but Rúna offers me a sympathetic look before I'm directed to cleaning up. I don't see Edvard anywhere, and I don't know if it's more a relief or a disappointment. I want to look for him, to tell him in some way that I'm sorry for how I've reacted, but I know that there is too much to be done.
Resigned, I set my focus on the morning tasks, hoping the day will provide me with the opportunity I seek.
Working helps ease some of the tension out of my body. The labor is so great, I have no choice but to devote all my focus to it. It helps to clear my mind and bring me some peace throughout the day.
When evening comes and Eydís sends me out to get the men for supper, my anxiety returns to me. Josurr and Arni are easy to spot, and I call to them using the few words I have learned. Edvard is not with them, and before I can ask, they point behind the structure, to the wood chopping stump where Edvard often works.
The sound of his heavy axe hitting and splitting the wood meets my ears as I approach. It's a rhythmic, steady sound that used to frighten me, but now brings me a degree of comfort.
When I turn the corner and finally lay eyes on him, I'm acutely aware of just how much of a man he is, and how very much of a girl I still feel. Sure, I'm legally an adult, but that means nothing, especially here.
I watch him work, appreciating the strength of him. He's unquestioningly the strongest person I've ever met.
It is both intriguing and intimidating.
He pauses his chopping when his eyes flicker up to see me standing there. I watch his shoulders tense slightly, like he's waiting for a blow from me.
It makes me unfathomably sad.
I step toward him, taking a deep breath.
"Edvard," I whisper, my throat tight. He puts down his axe, watching me warily. "I know you won't understand any of this, but I'm sorry." I take a deep breath and another step toward him. "I was frightened by what I thought I saw the other night. I didn't understand, and to me it looked like something dark and wicked. I don't know what to call your beliefs, but you see my parents raised me in a Christian house. Yes, okay, we didn't go to church too often, but still, there were certain expectations and values that I grew up with, and seeing what you were doing frightened me." I pause, shaking my head. "My father has all these horror stories of Satanism growing in popularity around the country. He said police have found Satanic cults who have practiced human sacrifice, and honestly, I am so vulnerable here. I don't know anything and I'm so weak and little, and you are all so strong and what could I do if you were all interested in practicing human sacrifice? How could I possibly protect myself?"
My eyes are filling with tears as I speak. Not for any reason other than I am so overwhelmed. "Edvard, do you know what it's like to feel so helpless?"
I've looked away from him as I ramble, but at the question, I look up at him. He's moved right in front of me, and I'm startled by how close he suddenly is.
Before I can step away, Edvard reaches out, one of his rough palms gently brushing against my cheek. His large thumb comes up, tenderly wiping the tears away. It only causes more to flow.
"Bella," he whispers, his voice soft as he tries to soothe my frantic energy. "Bella." It's the only thing he says, but there seems to be a world of meaning behind my name when he mutters it.
"Edvard." When I whisper his name, there grows a sudden intimacy between us that catches me by surprise. "I wish we could understand one another."
I don't necessarily need him to speak English. I'd be perfectly content learning his language, whatever it is. I don't care how we do it; I just want to be able to talk to him, truly talk. I had no idea I had so many words stored inside of me, waiting to be unleashed.
Edvard's thumb brushes against my cheek again as he murmurs another word, his head dipping toward mine, ever so slightly. My fists come up, gently folding around the front of his tunic, trying to hold him as close to myself as I dare.
"I want you to know," I whisper, my voice shaky even though I know he can't understand me. My eyes meet his. "That even though I ran from you, and even though we don't speak the same language, I trust you. You are just about the only person I do trust in this world."
Edvard's eyes are as bright as the evergreens around us as he gazes at me. I feel caught in his stare, charmed like a snake.
He lets out a breath, and I feel it fan across my face, intimate and warm. "Smár Einn," he whispers, and I still don't know what it means, but the intimacy of it reaches me. It's the name he calls me, a nickname he's picked out for only me.
It emboldens me, just enough, to reach up and hold his hand against my cheek. My hands are so much smaller than his, my fingers barely able to span his grasp, but he lets me hold him in place and I know in this moment, he wouldn't break my touch. Despite how small I am, and how unbelievably strong he is, I have all the power.
It scares me how much I want more.
I don't know what I'm doing. I have no experience with boys, let alone men, and Edvard is all man. Still, the look in his eyes is so patient, so gentle, that I feel safe, even in my inexperience.
I want to do so many things in this moment, but for now, I settle for leaning toward his lowered head, letting our foreheads touch as my eyes flutter shut. There is time, I decide, to figure out how. I want to be able to talk to him before I try to jump into anything physical, and from his reaction—gentle and patient—he agrees with me.
We have time.