The pale stranger's chest rose and fell in shallow breaths as he lay on the forest floor. Three arrows stuck from his chest like terrible flowers of violence. Yet, he lived.

How had they not killed him? The answer became more clear to Faye as she approached the man. Though he was unconscious, the warning bells in her mind rang louder and louder with ever step she took.

It's not possible, she repeated to herself.

Yet, there was a familiar tingle at the back of her neck, a shiver on her spine that she only felt in the presence of Odin's kin.

I couldn't be. But her instincts rang true as she crouched over the man. This tattooed man was a god.

"What are you?" she hissed. "Who are you?"

Faye examined him for any tell-tale signs of the Aesir. He bore no runic tattoos, only the single crimson stripe that began at his eye and crept back over his crown and down his spine. His face seemed frozen in a perpetual grimace and a dark beard grew thick at his jaw. He had strong features, hard cheekbones and proud nose. The man looked nothing like any gods she had seen before. And his skin. It was pale as the first snowfall, heralding a long and cold winter.

The only battle-dress he wore was a belt of studded leather straps. He reminded her of a berserkr, men who wore nothing for armor except animal hide into battle. The crazy bastards. But Faye had not seen those in nearly ninety winters. Her nose wrinkled. The bear-pelt he wore as a cloak stunk of rot.

Now closer, Faye could see all manner of wounds marking his pale skin. There were deep gashes at his sides and abdomen, Faye recognized the claw-marks. He must have come across a pack of hungry wolves eager to make a meal of him. They were a few days old but in all the excitement, the wounds had broken their seal and begun to bleed once more. Dark yellow pus oozed around the gaping mouth of the wounds. No doubt there were infected. Faye supposed that was the rot she smelled. Those would need a strong poultice and at least a month to properly heal. And the arrows? She would have to extract them herself if he had any chance of surviving.

No. She chastised herself. You don't save god-kin.

It was their nature to do only harm. If she saved this god, would he not turn on her? A well of long-forgotten rage burned inside her. Faye gripped her bow tight in her first, pinching her eyes shut. She thought of her brothers and sisters that fled Thor's carnage. She remembered the glee in his face as he slaughtered them by the hundreds. This god, whoever he was, didn't deserve her kindness.

But the vision... She reminded herself. That she could not deny. Groa's-bones! She couldn't deny seeing the child.

Looking back the at pale stranger, Faye cursed.

#

It was no easy feat dragging his body back to her homestead. It took almost all her remaining strength to bring him back to her hearth.

The man stirred when she heaved him onto her bed, but he did not awaken. He only released a low groan, mumbling something incoherent. Exhaustion and hunger coupled with his injuries weakened him greatly.

Faye brought the back of her palm to his forehead, then hissed, tearing her hand away. If it wasn't the wounds that would take him to Hel, it would be the fever. Faye knew she had to work quickly to save the stranger's life. She removed the bear-skin cloak and the studded belt around his waist. So strange, for a traveler to carry so few supplies. But this was no ordinary traveler, Faye reminded herself. As Faye heaved up the stranger's satchel, she staggered under its weight for a moment.

"Gods' blood!" She wheezed, nearly dropping it entirely. It was far heavier than Faye expected. Something shifted inside and gave a metallic clang. She left the satchel on her table, eyeing it suspiciously. "I'll have to look at you later," she promised.

Faye gathered medicinal herbs from her garden and pure water from her well. She ground willow bark to alleviate his pain and collected honey to draw out the infection. All the while as she worked, she kept her eyes hard on the stranger's face. Though he was weak and dying, the scowl had faded from his face. He looked almost peaceful in his slumber, relieved even, to be so near shuffling off the mortal coil.

"You will not give up so easily, stranger," Faye warned, though she wasn't sure if he could even hear her.

She chided herself. Why should she care of the wellbeing of a god? Faye fought with her own natural urges to help those in need, but her warrior-spirit ground against every bone in her body. She shouldn't care for a god. What have they ever done for her and her kin? But as much as she wanted to leave him for scavengers in the woods, she couldn't. Faye knew that if she did not help him, she could not get answers to the many questions that grew with every moment.

Where did he come from? Why had he come to this realm?

Even more troubling, if she did not help the stranger, she would not come to see his connection with her vision. Faye's eyes drifted across the hazy interior of her home. Through hanging dried herbs, pelts, and animal skulls that littered her home, Faye could see the Leviathan axe as it hung by antlers above her doorway. In the vision, the stranger wielded her axe as well as she could. It made all her stomach churn. She had to know more about this man. Faye's eyes shifted from the Leviathan axe to the stranger's leather satchel.

Faye approached the satchel, her chest heavy with uncertainty. She turned back for a moment. The stranger still slept, but restlessly.

Keeping her eye on him, Faye opened the satchel slowly. Inside, Faye was surprised to find neatly folded bundle of crimson material. Along the edge of the clothe was gold etching sewn into the fabric in geometric shapes, symbols that Faye was unfamiliar with. The fabric was soft and rich, kingly even. Fit enough for a god.

She extracted the bundle carefully from the satchel. Unfolding the clothe, a cold feeling dropped like a boulder in Faye. Inside she found twin blades. They were rough and worn from age. Attached to the grip were chains.

Monstrous weapons, Faye thought, her jaw tight. Fit for a monster.

She pulled up the hide rug beside her hearth, revealing a crease in the floorboard Underneath was a small crawlspace. She tucked her fingers around the edge of the wood slats and found a shelf hidden in the darkness. She wrapped the blades up tightly and hid them inside the dark space. Even if the stranger found the crawlspace, he would have to have a keen eye to spot the shelf. Faye quietly closed the trapdoor and replaced the rug, making sure that nothing looked out of place. Now, she need only wait until he woke.

Except, she would need some form of security. Faye went to her doorway, to the Leviathan axe. She tentatively reached up and gripped the handle. It was cool to the touch and tingled with magical energy. She ran her finger over the runic etchings along its head. Forged with the many hearts of frost trolls, it sent a familiar chill up her arms as she held it.

With this weapon she vowed to protect the Midgard from all threats. With this axe, Faye thought that she would wage war against the gods for what they did to her kin. But along the way, she waged her own war of a different kind: to live on despite the gods and brave this unforgiving world. Had she forgotten that so quickly when faced with a god in the flesh?

Faye pulled up a stool at the stranger's bedside and sat with Leviathan across her lap. Instead of war, perhaps there was another way to deal with the stranger. Gods by their nature do only harm. Perhaps this was her only chance to change one of them.

Perhaps, Fay thought, he could learn to be better.