Disclaimer: I do not own One Piece or the characters, they belong to Eiichiro Oda.

Guidance

She woke with a start and gasped as pain lanced up her side and stabbed at her shoulder. She wasn't sure what woke her this time. The cold, hard ground beneath the pine she hid under? The scratching of the branches that swayed in the breeze? The unsated hunger that clawed at her gut the past two days?

Or maybe it was the nightmare that plagued her in those brief moments she allowed herself to shut her eyes and sleep.

When she set out on the Kattegat, she had intended to stay close to shore, but the shallow reefs forced her to venture further out to avoid getting stuck. It was dangerous and reckless to navigate the strait at night, especially in such a small boat, with only a sliver of moon to light her path, but stupidity was often bred from desperation.

And she was desperate.

She rowed until her arms ached, using the oars to check the water depth when she felt she had come too near the shallows. Once she ventured further out, she struggled to raise the mast and sail alone. The voyage would have been difficult even with Nojiko, but now that she was alone, the only thing that pushed her to work was the instinct to survive and flee. With the sail secured, she had collapsed by the steering oar and finally gave in to the urge to cry.

She didn't know if Nojiko was alive. Arlong hadn't seemed inclined to kill her just yet, but that only meant her sister had to endure the full force of his abuse. She hated to think it, but at least Genzo was still there. He would do what he could to steer Arlong's anger toward himself and hopefully save her sister from unjust beatings.

Then again, he might finally kill Genzo for her disobedience, and Nojiko would be completely without mercy.

After all, it was Genzo's warning that had urged them to finally run away. As horrifying as it was to see their once proud jarl turned into a thrall, his status as a slave sometimes made him invisible to the men who overthrew him. They only cared to notice his existence when they needed someone to hurt.

She forced herself not to think about them, as painful as that had been. She had to be as cold as the northern winds. As hard as the glaciers deep in the mountains. She had to be selfish and stubborn. Maybe if the gods were on her side, as Arlong always swore they were, then she would find a way to save the only family bonds she knew. That hope was the one thing that kept her alive.

She didn't sleep for two days while out at sea. She ate her rations sparingly. Even if she now had enough food to last an extra couple of days, she didn't dare waste a crumb by overeating. There was no telling how long it would take to find safe housing, if she could find it at all. In the end, she probably should have enjoyed the extra pieces of bread and dried meat since she lost it all in a storm, anyway.

She had made it to the Skagerrak when the storm hit. She had felt as it brewed, but there was no avoiding the fast building winds in her small boat. All she could do was hunker down beneath her cloak, shivering in the freezing rain, and pray that she didn't capsize.

Of course she wasn't so lucky. She never had been. If the gods of the sea had truly been behind her since birth like he claimed, she would have avoided the storm, her boat would have held in the churning waves and winds, she wouldn't have been dragged by Rán's net until her lungs burst with the need to breathe, and she wouldn't have been slammed into a rocky shore, barely conscious when it was all over.

At least she was alive. He'd use that as a testament to her blessed nature.

If she was blessed, then the gods had a sick sense of humor in proving it.

At that point, she was lost. For the first time in her life, she was completely lost. As best she could tell, she was on the eastern coast of Noreg, but where exactly, she couldn't say. Her only bet was to start walking north. She knew there were a number of villages along the coast, further up into Oslofjord. She might be walking for days, but it was her only chance of finding refuge.

And food.

With her boat gone, so too were her supplies. All she had was the axe on her hip and the small knife she always had in her pouch - the weapons miraculously holding fast on her belt. She also found the few pieces of silver she had secured before she left the hall, but two pieces of gold were gone. Likely Rán helped herself to those before she tossed her ashore.

Her dress and cloak were soaked through for a day, even less protection from the elements, but at least she had been able to make a small fire that first night on land to help dry her clothes and warm her chilled bones. She had nothing to tend the gash on her left arm, or the cut to her forehead, but she cleaned them as best she could with strips of cloth from her shift. Her side was heavily bruised and it hurt to walk, but after that small respite, she forced herself to ignore it.

Once the sun was up, she began walking. It was slow going as she moved toward the forest. The terrain would be rougher, but she would be hidden from ships passing on the sea. If Arlong had sent one out to search for her, she would see that he had a difficult time.

In the trees, she struggled to keep her eyes out for danger, as well as food. She found some wild berries late in the afternoon that did nothing to ease the initial hunger, but it was better than nothing. By the night, she had found a small stream and eagerly cupped the water in her hands to drink. There had been fish, but it had grown too dark to catch any, so she suffered through the night with her small fire, imagining how good one little fish would be for supper.

Come the morning, her whole body ached and she found her muscles too stiff to catch anything in the stream.

That night had also been the first of her nightmares.

She doubted she slept for more than an hour, her mind far too anxious and aware of the dangers in the forest to doze off for long. But for that short time, she was assaulted with images of battle and blood, smoke and screams. She woke with the image of a massive wolf laying still in the mud, his dark pelt matted with blood. She had expected to face dark dreams of her sister's torment, or harsh memories of her mother's death, but the dreams she had were nothing like those.

She convinced herself they had grown from the stress of being alone and injured. She refused to think they might mean anything else.

When the dream returned the next night, she woke trembling with fear and was surprised to feel tears staining her cheeks. This time the dream came with even more pain. Her shoulder screamed at her as she slept, but she convinced herself that it was nothing more than her injured body betraying her mind with madness.

Food was even harder to come by that day, and her progress through the woods was slowed by a rainstorm rolling through. Her body was too stiff to move by mid-afternoon, and she gave up to huddle beneath a pine until the rain passed. She hadn't even realized she had fallen asleep until she woke from her recurring nightmare to find night had fallen and left her alone in an eerie darkness beneath the tree.

She stifled a groan as she tried to sit upright, tugging her cloak tight around her when a shiver raced down her spine. Beneath the wool and fur, fingers clumsy with cold grappled at the sleeve of her dress to check her aching wound. It stung to the touch and her fingers felt damp. She couldn't be sure if it had reopened as she slept, or if the wetness was from something far worse. With how her head ached and her mind felt hazy with fever, she knew it wasn't blood seeping from the gash.

She needed to find a village, someone to treat the cut properly. And food. She desperately needed food.

Her body felt too heavy to move and the dark made her wary to leave the relative security of the tree. Granted, if a predator caught her scent, it wouldn't matter if she was beneath a pine or out in the open. If she could climb the branches to a safer perch, she would, but as it was, she couldn't even stand, let alone reach for the lowest branches that were still well above her head, even if she stood on her toes.

A twig snapped in the distance, the sound breaking through the quiet night like the roar of thunder in a storm. Nami stiffened and pressed her back to the tree trunk, wide eyes casting around in search of what approached. She hoped it was just a hare, though she knew it was too late for the creature to wander the forest. Maybe it wasn't a twig, but an old branch giving on another tree.

The image of the beast in her dreams flit through her mind, and Nami hunched into her cloak with a quiet whimper.

She hoped it wasn't a wolf.

She snapped her head to the left when she caught movement in the trees. It was far too dark to make out the creature carefully climbing down a ridge of boulders. It was large, though. That much she could tell.

She heard a snort of air as it paused. She watched the shadow of a head raise, a snout drawing in a scent as best she could guess. It grunted again, and she watched with terror overtaking her as the animal sauntered toward her. She couldn't move. She was helpless to whatever preyed on her.

Her mind stirred up images of bloody fangs and hot breath. She didn't want to see that part of her demise, so she drew the cloak over her head, and buried herself in the fur collar. Maybe it would ignore her if it didn't see her. A stupid hope, but she had no other chance for survival otherwise.

As she listened to its steps thump over the forest floor, she grappled at her waist for the axe she hadn't used for anything other than splitting wood. She tried not to move too much as she drew it out, bit her lip to keep from hissing as her bruised side ached with the effort. Once the weapon was secure, she held herself as still as she could, carefully peering over the collar of her furs to look for the beast again.

It had vanished from the spot she last spied it, but she still heard its heavy grunts and snorts of air. Her eyes cast around her, slowly sweeping over every rock, every tree, searching for a shadow unlike the rest.

A scream was strangled in her throat when she found the creature standing tall in front of her, a few feet out of her reach.

A cloud moved from where it shaded the meager moonlight that night, and Nami felt all tension leave her as the silver-blue rays lit up the forest through the trees. Tan fur seemed to glow an ethereal white, warm and inviting. Sharp, curving antlers stood out from the green pine needles. She could have sobbed in relief as she watched his head bob with another snort of air, knocking the branches hanging low over his head.

The reindeer wasn't likely a threat, though she was curious what interest he had taken in her to bring him in so close. Usually they were timid of strangers.

She watched, weariness replacing her fear, as he kicked a hoof into the soil beneath the tree and bobbed his head again. She blinked tiredly as he shifted to the side, grunted in a way that sounded almost confused. His antlers caught in the branches, but he moved back to shake them loose and began to circle the tree until he reached a point where the needled limbs grew higher.

"What are you doing?" she asked softly, though she wondered if her voice was only in her mind. It all felt very distant and dreamlike.

He snorted in response and ducked his head low as he crept beneath the branches toward her side. For a moment she became worried again when he nudged her injured shoulder. The reindeer was a large creature, far stronger than her. If he was being territorial, or more aggressive than she originally thought, then she could be in just as much danger as she would be with a predator.

When she hissed in pain at his touch, though, he froze and pulled back. She swore he appeared worried.

He breathed out, as if sighing, and ducked his head while kneeling onto his forelegs. She slid her axe into her belt when he laid his head against her legs, mindful of his antlers. She tentatively reached out a shaking hand to run over his snout. He huffed and nudged the palm, the movement encouraging. She couldn't help but smile as her fingers passed through soft fur, up to his swiveling ear. He turned suddenly to nudge his blue nose into her face, his hot breath a comfort in the cool night.

"You're a friendly guy, aren't you?" she cooed. Perhaps it was a dream. Perhaps the fever had finally made her delirious. If it had, at least the dreams weren't of the dying wolf. She allowed herself to take comfort in the dream, and pressed her face against his, nuzzling the creature. He was so warm, and her weak limbs didn't ache as they had. Her eyelids felt heavy, but she didn't fear falling asleep like she had each night since she left her home and sister.

Somewhere on the edge of consciousness, she heard a clicking. The reindeer grunted, as if he recognized the sound, and nudged his head beneath her arms until she had no choice but to hook herself around his antlers as he pulled her off the ground. There was another click. Nami thought it sounded like a person, the familiar cluck of a tongue a farmer might use to herd their sheep and goats. She decided she truly was delirious, especially when she heard the voice of an ageless woman fade into the dark as it overtook her.

"That's a good boy. Bring her where she needs to be."

Nami felt as if she was floating. She wasn't sure how long she slept, nor did she care. The fur beneath her was too warm for her to worry about any dangers she might be led in to. She didn't stir until she felt the reindeer come to a stop and her body lowered to the ground. She could hear a stream amidst the gentle sway of the trees around her, smell the wet earth of the bank, feel the softness of the soil beneath her.

She blinked open her eyes to see that it was still night, but the forest seemed far brighter than it was. She was no longer among pines, the flora growing diverse and rich around the water, but her gaze was quickly drawn to one tree in particular.

As beautifully blooming as the yew tree was, with its leafy pine branches spreading out over the shallow stream, her whole attention was on the fire that crackled beneath. Her breath caught in her throat as she surveyed the area. She caught a pile of furs to one side of the fire, nearest the trunk of the large tree. A log sat near the water with a pelt spread over it and a leather pack on the ground beside it. Two horses were tied close to the water, just on the other side of the tree.

There were people nearby. But most importantly, there was food somewhere in that camp.

Her stomach growled painfully, and her hand went to clutch it in a vain hope of silencing its insistent need for food. She had no idea who the camp might belong to. It was dangerous to approach, but she was starved and hadn't seen any sign of a village nearby.

And that fire looked so warm. It was bigger than what she allowed herself. A flickering glow that fought away the darkness. Her eyes stung just imagining the comfort it would provide her aching body.

She had completely forgotten about the creature who brought her there until she felt his snout nudge her back. She glanced over her shoulder at the reindeer and smiled gratefully. Maybe the gods truly were protecting her.

Giving the reindeer a quick pat on the nose, she gathered whatever courage she had left and turned back to the fire. Thievery among free North-men was a grave crime, but one she wasn't unfamiliar with. She gave Genzo so many headaches as a child when she would sneak into his hall during a feast and help herself to a cup of sweet mead or scraps of meat she wouldn't otherwise get at home. She was caught once trying to sneak off with a gold necklace his men had brought back after a raid, among many other trinkets. She didn't think anyone would miss one little necklace. She was fortunate Genzo only punished her by making her scrub the floors of his hall and help mend the other villagers' clothes for a month.

An adult would face a far worse punishment depending on who they stole from. Slavery or death were the more preferred means of retribution, though some men were lenient and merely took a few fingers or a hand.

She flexed her hand at the thought. She really could not afford to lose anything. She would have to take extra care not to get caught.

The prospect of nourishment helped her forget her pain as she crouched behind a tree, once more making a sweep of the campsite for who it might belong to. They couldn't be far. She had her answer when she caught a faint stirring within the pile of furs. She heard a low groan as its occupant turned, and then a decidedly masculine hand and arm fell out to lay flat over the cold ground.

She really couldn't be caught.

With careful steps, she crept through the brush and fresh sprouts of grass toward the water. She avoided every twig, every loose stone. A warrior would not sleep lightly out in the open. No one would, but if this man happened to be a fighter, his senses would be sharp, even in sleep. He would wake with one crunch of leather on stone, and have a blade at her throat before she took another breath.

She aimed for the pack set against the log. It was her best bet for rations.

The wet soil at the bank of the stream sank with every soft step she took. She calmed her racing heart with silent breaths, afraid he might hear the thrum of anxiety through her veins. An ember popped in the fire, and she froze, her breath caught in her lungs, as the man shifted again. She spotted a crown of thick blond hair, the faint outline of a strong jaw, before he was lost within the furs as he drew them over his face.

She would have breathed a sigh of relief had she not thought it would wake him.

Not daring to take any more chances, she moved quickly toward the leather pack and opened it to see what might be inside. She found combs, a bar of soap, linens, and a small knife. She could have cried at the lack of food, but she was not deterred and pushed aside what she didn't need.

She was almost distracted by a small pouch that felt heavy with stones. Silver or gold, no doubt. That could go farther than the few pieces she had in her purse.

It wasn't the time to let greed overtake her. She needed food more than precious metals, and stealing the latter was sure to have deadly costs.

With a modicum of disappointment, she brushed aside the pouch and found folded leathers near the bottom. She peeled them open with bated breath, and inwardly rejoiced at the long scraps of smoked meats hidden within. She didn't stop to think or check for dangers as she grabbed two pieces and spun away from the camp. She ran swiftly through the grass to another tree, slumped down against the trunk, and immediately shoved the food in her mouth.

It was simple and bland, but her starved tongue swore they were more delicious than the roast foul her mother used to make when she was a child, sweeter than the mead she stole from her once proud and just jarl. It would hardly sate the hunger of days out in the wilderness, but it would hopefully ease the pain for another hour or two. She might find the energy to move north once more and search out a village.

She froze when she heard the snap of a twig. Fear raced through her as she remembered the camp nearby. She was certain that she hadn't been caught. She had been careful. Maybe it was nothing more than the companion the gods sent her way?

She looked up, hoping to find the reindeer trotting toward her. She found nothing but darkness and the distant flicker of the camp's fire.

Sighing, she went back to the meat in her hands. It was probably just a hare, or maybe one of the horses.

That was what she thought until she heard a rumbling growl just over her left shoulder.

Her chest tightened as she stiffly turned toward the sound. She expected to find that wolf she feared…

She found far worse.

"Thief," the man snarled where he stood towering above her. It wasn't the man sleeping in the camp. His hair was too dark, brown as best she could tell in the shadows beneath her tree, and bound in a loose knot at the back of his head with a few strands falling loose around his temples. His large frame only seemed to grow as he came at her, the dark furs of his cloak making him seem like a monster straight out of her worst nightmares.

She screamed when he snatched her by the arm and hauled her up. The sound was quickly strangled as he slammed her back against the tree. He ripped the last piece of meat from her hand while his grip on her arm dug deep into wounded flesh.

"What else did you take?" he asked lowly, his fingers tightening until she whimpered and shrank into herself.

Fire lanced through her shoulder. She felt sick to her stomach as fear and hunger gnawed at her gut. Even as heat course through her injuries, her body felt chilled.

She shuddered.

"What else, woman?" her captor growled, his tone loud and impatient.

He shook her and she whimpered again, growing even smaller.

"Nothing," she forced herself to say through a gasp. She couldn't seem to fill her lungs, and her eyes stung as she looked up at him, pleading for mercy. "Just the few scraps. I swear I can pay you back for them. Just please…" She winced when his hand tightened again, and then gasped for a deep breath when the pain seemed to find her bruised side. Only the tree and his firm grip kept her on her feet. "Don't kill me," she begged, panting for air.

She felt dizzy, and she didn't know if it was from fear or her fever. It didn't really matter as she felt the world spin around her before the ground seemed to give way and everything went black.

Eustass Kid had no patience for thieves. He did not forgive having his belongings rummaged through and taken by a stranger, even if it was a woman.

He had stepped away from camp to relieve himself and stretch his legs. His companion was asleep while he took up the first watch of the night. It was a boring task. The forest was peaceful and he didn't expect to encounter any enemies, but it was better to be safe than sorry. He probably could have dozed lightly against the tree without any problems arising, but something kept him awake, anyway.

He felt an unease in the still night.

When he returned to the camp, he caught movement away in the trees, but after a minute of straining to see in the darkness beyond and finding nothing, he shrugged it off and went to retake his seat by the fire. That was when he found his pack open and rummaged through.

He growled in annoyance, tossed a bar of soap at his cousin's head to rouse him, and stood to search out whoever dared touch his things.

When he found her crouched behind the tree, he hesitated for a split second. The tiny, frail woman looked more like a wounded animal than a thief. But then he watched her bite into the piece of smoked meat, and his anger returned.

He didn't think he had held her so tight, but he saw pain in her eyes, nonetheless. Even through his annoyance, he could see she was pale. Despite the chill of the night air, her forehead glistened with sweat, and when he gripped her arm, he didn't miss the bitter, metallic scent of a poorly healing wound. He shouldn't have been so surprised when she fainted, but he stiffened despite himself as her head fell forward and body went limp. Instinct made him catch her, and he growled again as he clutched her to him.

"Kid?" Killer called out, rustling through the underbrush until he reached the tree. "What did you do?" he asked in a reprimanding tone as soon as he saw the thief he held.

"Nothing," he bit out while arranging her in his arms. "I caught the thief and she fainted."

"She?" Killer moved closer, stunned that it was a woman who stole from their camp. "Why did she faint?"

He didn't like the unspoken accusation in his voice. "I only grabbed her, damn it. I didn't do anything else." With another annoyed growl, he picked the woman up and tossed her over his shoulder. "And even if I did, who's to care? She's a vagrant and a thief. Maybe even a witch considering how easily she slipped into our camp without waking you."

"She's a woman, Kid," Killer reprimanded, moving away to allow him to lead the way back to their fire.

"I ain't blind. I can see she's a woman." Despite what he said, he still dropped her onto Killer's furs without any care for her comfort. At least he put her on furs.

"Kid," his friend rebuked, but he waved him off and crouched beside the woman to observe her in the light of the fire.

She was definitely ill. Her breathing was shallow, her pallor eerily white. Her pink lips were pale and dry, cracked from lack of water. Her hair was a soft amber that might have once been as bright as their fire, but seemed dull and matted where it wasn't bound in braids. Her dress was covered in mud and grass, and had likely seen far better days in the past, but still had a flattering fit for her slender, curving frame.

He hummed in thought. "She'll probably die in a few days. Wouldn't matter if I sped it along." He cocked his head to the side and smirked. "Though, clean her up, she'd be a pretty thing to have in bed. I could keep her as a slave for stealing from me."

Killer struck him sharply on the back of the head.

"What?" he shouted. "She's a vagrant and thief! I have a right to punish her however I see fit."

His cousin smacked him again.

"Take a closer look. She isn't a common thief, and I doubt she's without a home." He gestured at the unconscious woman, and Kid grudgingly did as he said.

Frowning, he pushed back her cloak to take a better look at her. The cloak alone said Killer was right. It was made of finely woven brown wool, typical of most cloaks, but there were pieces that spoke of a gentle breeding. The inside was lined with soft white silk, the kind that only the richest could get through barter and trade with Frankish and Muslim merchants. A fur pelt wrapped around the shoulders, providing both a decorative trim and extra warmth.

The fur especially caught his eye.

"Lynx," he mused, fingers running through the soft fur. The collar was a golden brown that gracefully gave way to tawny shades and white, specks of black spotted the coat to give away its uniquely feline origins. Lynx fur was extremely rare to come by. The large predator was far too graceful and quick to be caught easily by hunters, and it usually lived in more remote regions of the mountains. Whoever commissioned that cloak paid a hefty price in gold for it.

His inspection moved to the rest of her. The dress he had already noticed was well crafted, but no more than what an average jarl might provide a woman of his household. The white underdress was made of good linen, as was the shorter blue apron dress above it. But then he noticed the finer embroidery braided along the bust, and the woven leather belt at her waist. It was more decorative than practical with pieces of green and yellow string weaving through it, another expense not bestowed on most.

The oval brooches fastening the straps of the apron dress in place had his eyes widening in surprise. They were gold and engraved with the prowling forms of two large cats on each. The design stirred up images of Freyja and her chariot, images only strengthened by the amber and gold beaded strings that hung between them over the bust of her dress.

His shock urged him to brush more of her cloak aside and snatch her left hand from where it had fallen to rest on her stomach. He had caught sight of the gold bangle when he found her, but hadn't looked close enough to think it more than decoration, even assumed it was just a cheap forgery. Sure enough, the luster of gold was real, as were the protection runes carved on the inside of the band. Paired with the golden bracelet, she wore another band of woven leather that fit tight to her wrist, a large amber stone set in the top, with smaller beads sprinkled amidst the knots.

Needless to say, he found himself confused. What was a thief doing with so much fine garb and jewelry? And all so closely linked to the goddess many among the Svear revered as one of their most benevolent and sacred?

He sat back on his haunches, eyes narrowed in thought as he considered all the possibilities. And then a more important question came to him.

"What the fuck is she doing here?" he asked aloud. She was completely alone in the wilderness, starved to death, judging by her theft, and deathly ill.

"That's something to ask her when she wakes, but in the meantime we should take care of her," Killer informed, moving to crouch on the other side of the woman.

He was torn at that. Pride and anger still burned in his chest. She stole from him. Even if it was only a few scraps of meat, she still committed a terrible offense. The last thing he cared to do was treat her kindly.

But…

His eyes lingered on the feline etchings of her brooches. If she was someone special to the gods, he couldn't treat her ill, not unless he wished to invoke their wrath.

And then his gaze fell upon her belt where a small purse hung at her hip. It was trimmed with deer fur and closed with a silver clip. She said she could pay him.

"Her shoulder's injured," he informed, pointing to her left arm before he pulled the small purse from her belt. As he took it, he spotted the small hand axe hanging loosely at her side. The crescent was well kept, and the decorative knot work etched into the blade looked to be inlayed with silver. Another expensive piece.

While Killer went to undo her cloak and inspect her injuries, Kid dug into the purse. He found a leather bound knife tucked in the bottom, its handle an ornate ivory that he guessed came from a walrus tusk. The woman was far from a poor vagrant, only leaving him to further wonder on her origins.

He pushed those questions aside when he found ten pieces of silver. More than enough to cover the food she took, as well as compensate for a few days of care and protection. He grinned at that. The next time he was in battle, surely the gods would give him good favor for the honor he's bestowed on the mysterious woman.

Killer's hissing drew him from his selfish thoughts, and he glanced up to see his cousin peel away the bloodstained sleeve of her dress.

"Apologies, young lady," he muttered before pulling out his knife and cutting the fabric away. She had tried to bind it with strips of cloth that Kid noticed were missing around the hem of her dress, but it was poor treatment given her condition. As Killer peeled away the bits of fabric, Kid wrinkled his nose at the smell of infection that came from the deep gash in her arm.

"It looks rotten," Kid assessed, leaning over the prone woman to grasp her arm and pull it into the light so he could see it better. He froze when she whimpered and her unconscious expression tightened with pain.

"Gentle, Kid," his friend lectured, swatting him away. "Put a knife in the fire," he ordered before turning toward his own pack resting against the base of the tree. "It might be wise to bring her back with us. She'll be better off with our healers tending to her than either of us."

Kid grunted in acknowledgement as he grabbed one of his hunting knives and stuck the blade into the fire pit. It wasn't a bad idea.

"And I don't think it's rotten," Killer mused, and Kid looked over to see him inspecting the shoulder intently.

"But it's all blue and stinks like death."

Killer's brows scrunched as he gently eased the woman onto her other side. This time she didn't stir in the least.

"It's definitely not healing properly, but I think if I just let the bad blood out and cauterize it, she'll be fine. This coloring, though…" He trailed off as he ran his fingers over her shoulder, and then his brows disappeared into the fringe of his blond bangs. "It's a tattoo."

"What?" Kid asked and came to lean over her again to see the purposeful design curling over her shoulder and arm that looked reminiscent of a fish, maybe a shark. It was rare to see a woman with tattoos, at least among noble-women. Some shieldmaidens who had completely forsaken the typical life of a woman and taken up arms might have some decorations to wear into battle, but even that was rare. Occasionally a priestess wore some runes on her skin, but rarely in a permanent fashion, and this wasn't a rune. Some thralls were marked, but most of those were slaves traded or taken from other lands to the south and east, and some of those markings were all they had left of their native cultures. But a free-woman of the north, dressed in fine silks and furs befitting a noble – to bear a tattoo was unheard of. Yet another mystery to the woman in their care. "Who would mark a woman like that?"

"We'll have to ask her when she wakes," Killer said with a sigh and went back to work on the wound. "Fill the pot with fresh water and heat it," he ordered. "And get whatever clean linens you have."

Kid grumbled, but gathered what he required while Killer ran a cloth over his knife to clean it and set upon reopening the wound. By the time he had let out the foul smelling blood, Kid had returned with warmed water and the cloth from his pack.

"This is deep," he heard Killer muse, "she'll likely have a scar."

"Hope that tattoo wasn't important to her," Kid said, taking in the gash that cut along the bottom of the shark.

"I'm sure she'll be happy to be alive," Killer remarked as he rinsed out the wound and patted it dry. "The knife," he prompted, and Kid moved to pull the blade from the fire, the metal glowing a hot yellow. "Hold her down. She might wake with this."

Kid immediately grabbed her other arm, wrapping it up in one of his to prevent her from lashing out at the man treating her wound, and braced her head and shoulders against his thigh with the other as he sat on the ground.

Killer had been right. The moment the scalding blade touch her injured flesh, her eyes shot open and back arched off the ground. She opened her mouth to scream, but no sound came out, while the hand that had been held near his bicep scratched and clawed at his brown tunic. A few heartbeats later, she fell limp again.

While Killer spread salve over the burn and wrapped it in clean linen, Kid found himself staring down at the sleeping woman. Her breathing was still harsh, and as he brushed back the strands of hair clinging to her face, he found her forehead hot to the touch.

"She has a fever," he informed, while idly grazing his hand over the braids knotted over her scalp.

"The skin around her cut was hot, too. It's likely what made her ill."

"That, and starving to death."

"That, too," Killer agreed.

Kid gently detached her hand from where it still loosely clung to his arm. He frowned at the slim fingers easily swallowed by his larger hand. "Rest of her's freezing," he said, instinct urging him to rub her frigid hand in his to warm it. "How long has she been out here?"

"The wound is fairly recent. Only a few days old. For her to be this hungry and sick, could be nearly a week that she's been out in the elements," Killer guessed. "Another question for her."

Kid grunted. He had a lot of questions to ask her. So many that he found all his anger buried beneath endless curiosity.

Most pressing of all – What did the Norns have woven for them?

A/N: Thanks everyone for the nice reviews on the first chapter. I do hope you all enjoy this fic.

As I said in the last chapter's author note: I'm using more modern day geographical locations, but I've also decided that I'm going to use Swedish and Norwegian words (sparingly, and hopefully correctly), to stand in the place of how these people would refer to each other or certain countries in Old Norse. For example: Noregi = Norway in Old Norse (According to what I found, it had at least become the more common word for it, and it's probably better than using norðmaðr which would have all of you that much more confused. I was originally thinking of just using Norge, the current term for Norway in Norwegian Bokmål - a language I once tried to learn decades ago, and still want to learn *sigh*). Also the word, 'svear' is an old term referring to 'Swedes'. More of where Nami is from (at least the village) will be discussed in the next chapter, but I'll say it's technically Götaland which is part of present day Sweden... From what I've gathered, though, by about the point I'm placing this fic, it had been integrated into Sweden... possibly. Nami's actual birthplace, though, is quite firmly in Sweden (Svealand around this time period, from what I've found). Again, more on that in later chapters.

As much as I am enjoying my research for this, it is making me go cross-eyed at times.

And yes, that was Chopper and Kureha making an appearance. I'll touch on the mythological connection I made for them in the next chapter.

I also made creative leaps in terms of Nami's tattoo. There seem to be debates on whether or not Northmen had worn tattoos (I like to think they did, but that's because I love tattoos), and they seem to be more associated with the Viking raiders, not so much those left at home, so I took some liberties with that part of the culture.