A/N: This is a sequel to a preceding story of mine (Ride of the Valkyries). If you want to read this one, it would be better to read the first (or you might be a bit confused).

Leofe awoke to distant chatter, in an unfamiliar bed.

Immediately, her grogginess gave way to alarm, and she sat upright in one swift motion. This was not the small hut where she was used to sleep, one knife hidden under her pillow. It was not her parents' modest home either. This was a village longhouse with a tall, arched ceiling, and intricately carved wooden pillars standing in rows on both sides of the hall. Bright sunlight poured through the rafters, illuminating the tables lined up in the middle of the vaulted space. Shields and swords hung over the wooden beams, while green and white tapestries depicting two ravens in flight were suspended in every corner. Leofe was finally struck by the memories of the past night: she had been brought to the village of that Viking she-warrior, the one who had killed Beorthric and the rest of his band.

"Oh!" said a voice, next to Leofe. She flinched at the sound, turning to see a freckled face, hanging upside down. "You're awake. Finally!"

Leofe screamed, nearly tumbling down from her cot. There was a dull thud as the freckled youth jumped from the wooden beam built above Leofe's head. It was another girl, of age with Leofe. She had a wild mane of red-gold hair, littered with leaves and blades of grass. Leofe reeled back, nose scrunching up, as the wild-looking girl stared at her with unblinking eyes. She was wearing a tattered dress of an indistinct colour—and no shoes at all. There were smudges of greenish dirt—or was it paint?—all over her face.

"So she brought another one, didn't she?" the girl said, rather cheerfully.

"What?" said Leofe. "What are you talking about?"

"You're new, aren't you?" said the other girl. "Sunniva asked me to show you around. She would have done it, but she's busy with wedding preparations, you see?" She'd spoken as if all she said was perfectly sensible, even though it all sounded like perfect nonsense to Leofe's ears.

"Show me around… what are you talking about?"

"The village, of course! You're just arrived at Ravensthorpe, right? I could introduce you to everyone."

Why would I want that? Leofe nearly spat, but she was smart enough to keep her mouth shut. The previous company Leofe had kept had been—well, she had hated them with every fibre of her being, but at least they had been god-fearing Christians, not a bunch of pagan Danes. God, in what kind of mess had Leofe found herself into? Perhaps Mother had been right. Perhaps the Lord had forsaken Leofe because—

"Aren't you hungry?" asked the other girl. "You must be. Come, we've enough porridge to feed an army, and some fresh bread with cheese as well. You'll like Tarben's bread, you'll see." She motioned at Leofe to follow her. "I'm Alfrún, by the way. What's your name?"

Leofe hesitated. She could hear people speaking and laughing at one of the tables. All of her instincts screamed at her to turn tail and flee. Then again, she didn't want the pagans to chase after her as if she was some hare to hunt. "Leofe," she finally mumbled. "My name's Leofe."

"'Beloved', eh?" said Alfrún. "That's sweet!"

She led Leofe to one of the tables. A number of people were breaking their fast, eating porridge and cheese and fresh bread as Alfrún had said. Leofe only recognized two faces among the group: an older woman with almond-shaped eyes, and the blond woman warrior who had saved Leofe from Beorthric's blade. She was bouncing a dark-haired, rather serious-looking toddler in her lap. Beside her sat two men, one with a grey beard, and another with a shocking red strip of hair in the middle of his skull. They were accompanied by a young boy who was cheerfully babbling about one topic or another. The adults were looking upon him with fond amusement.

"Alfrún!" the she-warrior called as the two of them approached. "Good morning!"

"Good morning, Eivor!" the girl answered. "My, you are all eating like hungry wolves this morning. Did you leave enough for us, I wonder?"

"Of course," said the one named Eivor. "Take a seat, both of you."

"Randvi isn't here?" Alfrún asked as she sat at the table. Leofe hesitated, then took a place beside her; despite her reservations, she was famished.

"I've given her the greatest gift of all," Eivor said, "that is, to sleep late in the morning without any care. Meanwhile, I have been entrusted with an important duty: to watch over these two rapscallions." And she bounced the toddler in her lap, who responded with an indignant cry.

The blond boy spoke up at this assertion. Leofe could barely understand him. Was he using a strange mix of Saxon and Dane words? It seemed that way. Leofe realized that he was talking about his parents, more specifically about his mother. Something was wrong with her stomach apparently?

Eivor chuckled. "Oh, your parents are having a 'talk', all right."

Next to her, the red-haired Dane said something, burying his face into his hands. Eivor and the other woman laughed at his reaction.

"That is some good news," said Alfrún. "Are you happy to be a big brother again, little aetheling?"

An aetheling? Leofe wondered. Perhaps it was a nickname of sort. The boy happily babbled in response; again Leofe could not make a word out of what he was saying. She ate in silence while the rest of the table exchanged idle conversation, still feeling like an interloper in their midst. The fact that they kept speaking in the Dane language only reinforced that impression.

When they were done eating, Alfrún stood and said to Leofe, "All right! Come on, I'll show you around."

Leofe rose from her seat, managing an unenthusiastic, "If you say so…"

"Thank you, Alfrún," said Eivor. She grinned before adding, "Smár gangr."

Alfrún made a mock curtsy and answered, "Stórr gangr."

Leofe dwelled on the strange exchange as she followed Alfrún out of the longhouse. Outside, the sky was overcast, and the air was chill even though it was the middle of summer. Still, the village was bustling with activity. Discordant clangs sounded from the forge, signs that the town blacksmith was hard at work despite the earliness of the day. People carried all sorts of materials up the path that went behind the longhouse: chairs, tables, casks of ale… That was surely where the wedding ceremony would take place, then.

"Welcome to Ravensthorpe!" Alfrún announced, opening her arms wide. "Where would you like to go first?"

Leofe simply stared at her. "I don't know. You're the one who wanted to show me around town."

If Alfrún had felt insulted by Leofe's blunt tone, she did not show it. She led Leofe around the town, pointing and explaining things like, "This is Yanli's home. She trades with merchants all across the isles," or, "Oh, here's Wallace. Hello. Wallace! Already coming back from the hunt, are you?"

Alfrún changed from the Dane language to the Saxon tongue seamlessly as she exchanged pleasantries with the villagers. Leofe had first believed her to be one of these northern barbarians, but now she was not so sure. There were also more Saxons among the inhabitants of Ravensthorpe than she would have thought. What kind of Dane village was this?

They approached a house built on the side of the river. A dark-haired woman clad in a blue dress was stitching a large piece of fabric while a toddler played with a straw doll at her feet. The woman was also instructing a brown-haired child who was making flower garlands. The girl, who seemed to have seen twelve winters at the most, grinned widely as she caught sight of Alfrún.

"Good morning, Gudrun!" Alfrún addressed the woman. She playfully ruffled the babe's dark hair. "Good morning, Hjordis! And good morning, Cwen!"

"Good morning, child," answered Gudrun, while the girl named Cwen happily said, "Hello, Alfrún!"

"Where's Eira?" Alfrún asked, looking around. "I thought she would have helped as well."

Gudrun rolled her eyes. "You know that daughter of mine. Terrible at needlework, that one. She's probably pestering Tekla for a sip of the new batch of mead."

"Who's your friend?" Cwen asked. Leofe pointedly looked at her feet when she realized the other girl was directing her smile at her.

"That's Leofe," Alfrún said. "Leofe, this is Cwen, my sister in bond, but not in blood."

Cwen giggled. "Oh, you always have such poetry in your words, Alfrún. Where are you from, Leofe?"

Why do you even care? Leofe nearly replied, but instead she muttered, "Wandrie." She didn't add that the two villages closest to her hometown, Earnningstone and Meldeburne, had been put to the torch by Dane pillagers. Her scowl deepened at the memory of dark cloud rising on the horizon. She remembered huddling with the other people of Wandrie in the village church, her little hands clasped in prayer, pleading, oh Lord, please keep us in your heart, guard us from their cruel blades, Lord, please remember your children in England…

Leofe wondered sometimes if the Lord could even hear their prayers. If He even cared.

"I'm from Eoforwic," said Cwen.

The name was unfamiliar to Leofe. "Where's that?"

"Up north," said Alfrún. "In the kingdom of Northumbria."

"The Danes call it Jorvik now," added Cwen.

Of course they do, Leofe thought bitterly. "How come you live here, then?"

Cwen laughed again, exchanging a look with Alfrún. The latter was grinning mischievously.

"Same story as you, probably!" said Cwen. "One day, I was in the market, selling straw goats for Yule and—"

There was snow in Jorvik.

Eivor held out her hands, watching the flakes gathering on her leather gloves. So far her winters in England had been wet and miserable. Part of her longed for the days spent playing in the snow back in Fornburg, when she had been a child.

It was why she found the city of Jorvik a sight for sore eyes. The buildings were painted with colourful hues, their walls showing the intricate woodwork Eivor remembered from the homes of the land she'd left behind. A thick blanket of snow covered the ground and the gentle slope of the roofs. If not for the occasional word said in Saxon, Eivor could have almost believed she was back in Norway—back home.

The market near the ancient Roman theatre was a lively place, and people were merry as they browsed the many stalls made available by enterprising merchants. The celebration of Yule was near, Eivor remembered with a twinge in her heart. That would be the first Yule she would spend apart from the Raven clan.

Among the chatter of the sellers and buyers, she heard a child's voice brightly calling out, "Baa-lessings for the season! Yule goats! Made with care! Baa! Baa!"

Eivor smiled, finding the girl among the crowd. Beside the brown-haired child were a few goats made of straw. Once more, the girl imitated the sound of a goat; she was a cunning peddler, to have developed such charming selling tactics.

Eivor approached the girl, crouching to her eye level. The child said, "Greetings, fair warrior! A yule goat for your silver?"

"You made these yourself, child?"

The girl nodded. "Yes, my sister and I made them, and they are finest in the land!" She scrunched up her face a little. "Well, I'm not sure about being the finest. But I do love them, every one!"

"I will gladly buy a yule goat," Eivor said. It would make a good souvenir for the children back in Ravensthorpe. Perhaps they would even forgive her for spending Yule apart from them. "If you have one in the likeness of Tanngrisnir, I will take it."

"Who is Tanngrisnir?" the girl asked.

Ah, so the child was Saxon. It was amusing to know that they shared the tradition of Yule with the Norse. Perhaps Ceolbert's theories about their people being distant kin were right, in the end.

"One of guardian Thor's famous goats. Tanngrisnir and Tanngnjóstr pull his chariot in the sky."

"He rides the sky? Like the Herlaþing? Woden's hunt?" The girl frowned. "My sister said bad spirits ride at night on Yule. That's why we have to be careful, to keep them away."

"Your sister is wise as well as a skilled artisan," Eivor said. "She will be glad to know that you sold one of your goats."

The child's face fell. "Oh, she would… she'd be so happy, but…"

Eivor's heart sank. "Your sister, she is…"

"I miss her," said the girl, eyes shining. "Especially during Yule. I hope wherever she is, there are plenty of woolly fluffy goats to keep her warm."

"I'm sorry, little one," Eivor said, voice tightening.

"The cold took her last winter," the child continued. "She was all that I had. I promised her I would continue selling our goats. She said they can bring warmth into the hearts of others." The girl reached for one of her goats. Her hands trembled a little as she gave it to Eivor, but her smile was steady. "Here's yours. I hope it will keep you warm on your travels! Goodbye, nice stranger!"

Eivor took the goat, struck by an uneasy feeling in the pit of her stomach. She remembered a Saxon child much like this one—and the harsh fate that had befallen that girl because Eivor had iced her heart when faced with her grief and anger. The goat was well made; the child was obviously a meticulous artisan. Her smile was wide—but it was brittle as well.

How long would she survive, alone against the cruelties of winter?

"What is your name?" Eivor asked, quite softly.

"Cwen," said the girl. She seemed curious. "You're Dane, aren't you?"

"Norse," answered Eivor. "Listen… do you have anyone to take care of you? A trusted caretaker to protect you from all harm?"

Cwen bit down her lip as she answered, "Well, I help around the minster, and the brothers let me sleep there…"

Eivor did not know what drove her to say, "If given the chance, would you like to live in my village? It is located in Mercia. Ravensthorpe is small still, but my people are a hardy lot, and our door is always open to those in need."

Cwen's eyes went wide. "T-Truly? But I'm Christian, and you're—"

"The Raven clan welcomes all regardless what people you call yours, or what faith you worship." Eivor put a hand over the child's shoulder. "I was adopted myself by the clan's leader when I was about your age. You spoke of bringing warmth into the hearts of others. Well, I say you deserve to spend winter near the comfort of a hearth to warm your heart as well."

"—and that's how I came to live in Ravensthorpe," said Cwen. "It's been… oh, three, four winters since then?"

"Three Yules to be precise," said Alfrún. "And, yes, she still makes those goats."

"It's tradition!" Cwen exclaimed as Gudrun let out a little laugh.

Leofe did not know what to make of the other girl's story. She wanted to say that Cwen had been naïve to follow a strange woman she'd just met to an unknown destination. But another emotion flared up inside of her as she beheld Cwen's plump cheeks and bright eyes.

Envy. Leofe was envious of the other girl.

Cwen waved them goodbye as Alfrún led Leofe away, saying that there were many more people she had yet to meet. Next to the forge ("Gunnar's busy. We shouldn't disturb him," Alfrún had said) was another home, painted a lovely shade of blue-green. Alfrún put a finger to her mouth, exchanging a conspiratorial look with Leofe. A man wearing strange white robes was standing with his back turned away from them. He was reading from a parchment, muttering to himself. Alfrún advanced on tiptoe, careful as to not make a sound. There was a large grin upon her face.

The man chuckled, and she froze in her tracks. "I heard you, Alfrún," he said. "I know you're behind me."

Alfrún stomped her foot. "Oh, come now! You've eyes on the back of your head, Hytham!"

"You did well, do no doubt it." The man named Hytham was handsome, Leofe had to admit, with short black hair and clear blue eyes. His voice had a soft musicality that instantly put her at ease. "In time, you might become as good as Eivor."

"Better than Eivor, you mean."

"Perhaps," Hytham admitted. "You need to keep up with your training, however." He turned to Leofe, who found herself blushing. He had a nice smile, she found. "Who is your friend?"

"Her name is Leofe," Alfrún answered. "She's new around town."

"Oh?" Hytham laughed again. "Another fledging to join the flock, then?"

That raised Leofe's hackles. "I'm no one's fledging." Distantly, she remembered Beorthric's nasty laugh, and the leering looks his men used to shoot her way. Leofe was young, but she was old enough to understand what she'd been to their greedy eyes: a thing, to be owned, to be used. She had to stifle a shudder at the memory.

"I'm sorry," said Hytham. "I did not mean to offend you."

Leofe's cheeks burned with shame. God, but she'd sounded like a total fool. "It's fine. I'm just…" …no one. I'm no one. "…tired, is all."

Hytham looked at her for a moment. Leofe had the distinct impression that he understood far more than he was letting on. For some reason, that almost made her want to cry.

"Well, I am happy to make your acquaintance, young Leofe," he said, finally. "Now, it's not that I am not happy to be speaking with you two, but I'm quite busy." His smile grew a bit sheepish. "I'm in charge of accommodating all of our wedding guests." His tone indicated that what he'd truly meant to say was, I didn't think there would be so many of them.

Alfrún patted his arm. "You're doing a great job, Hytham. Eivor and Randvi will be thankful for your hard work, I'm sure of it."

Leofe gingerly lifted her hand as Alfrún waved Hytham goodbye. Then, it was time for more introductions: Merton the fisherman and his grandson Arth, Mayda, who was grumpily going about with her big pregnant belly, Alvis and Holger, a pair of twin brothers who kept bickering about some poem the other had composed… God, by midday, Leofe had learned so many new names that her head could not stop spinning.

At the docks, there seemed to be some sort of commotion. Leofe noticed that a longship had accosted from the river; its white and blue-green sail showed the same raven symbol she'd seen in the meadhall. Joyful villagers came to greet the warriors coming out of the boat. Leofe's heart jolted in fear at their frightening appearance. Again she thought of the cruelties suffered by the people of Earninngstone and Meldeburne. Those towns had been destroyed by raiders who must have looked much like these laughing, carefree warriors. The thought sent a chill down her back.

Alfrún herself grew tense at the sight of them. No, at the sight of two men in particular: a tall, dark-haired one with a red cloak; and another with red hair and a missing arm.

"The longship is back," she said. "Eivor will be pleased."

Then why aren't you smiling? "Who are they?" Leofe asked.

"I don't know who the man with the red cloak is," Alfrún said. "He must be one of Eivor's guests. The other is…" It was strange to see her hesitate after the infallible cheer she'd shown so far. "That's Eivor's brother. Sigurd."

"You don't like him?" asked Leofe.

Alfrún turned a pair of surprised eyes to Leofe. "Oh… oh, no, no, no! It's not that I don't like him. It's just that…" She made a noise of irritation. "It's complicated. He hurt Randvi and Eivor pretty badly. They still love him, but…"

"You can still love the people who hurt you," Leofe muttered, thinking of fair hair caught in the wind, of a nose kissed by freckles, of a shy smile made even more charming by crooked teeth. Leofe had forgiven Aelflaed, of course. She'd been scared, and she had missed her parents and the life they'd left behind when they had fled together in the woods, mad with the deceitful hopes of young love.

But if Aelflaed hadn't spoken out against her, hadn't turned out the waterworks, hadn't wailed that she didn't know, that wasn't what she wanted, that she'd been led astray… then perhaps Leofe's parents would been merciful as well. Perhaps they would have forgiven their sinful daughter for her transgression. Perhaps right now Leofe could be playing hide-and-seek with her little brothers, or assisting her grandmother with her weaving, or singing silly songs to the chickens like she did every morning when she fed them.

Perhaps right now Leofe would be safe at home.

"I don't need to be introduced to them," Leofe said, feeling unexpected sympathy for Alfrún's unease. The warriors gathered at the docks spoke loud and laughed louder. As a rule, Leofe never trusted men who deliberately acted as to drown the voices of others. It always struck her as an act of supreme selfishness. "Can you show me the rest of the village?"

Alfrún shot her a grateful smile. Leofe's stomach did a little somersault at the sight. "Of course! Let's go!"

This time, they headed up the path going behind the longhouse. The first building they encountered was a stable; the horsemaster was busy tending to two visitors: one was a portly man in a monk's garb, while the other was younger, with a red-blond hair beard and closely-cropped, balding hair. Leofe couldn't help but stare at the monk. What was a brother of the faith doing in a village full of heathens? Had Eivor truly invited a priest to her pagan wedding?

A young girl with pale blond hair was brushing one of the horses, speaking to the beast in a soft, soothing voice. She beamed as she caught sight of Alfrún.

"Big sister!" she exclaimed. "I thought you would be helping Valka all day with her preparations!"

"Eivor gave me another mission," Alfrún said. "That's Leofe. She's new around the village."

The blond girl was perhaps a few winters younger than Leofe and Alfrún. Her skin was pale as snow, but her cheeks were a lovely shade of pink. "I'm Ingrid," the girl said. "Did Eivor bring you to the village as well?"

As well…? Leofe wondered. Had Eivor really made a habit of bringing children to her town as if they were stray chicks who had fallen from their nests? If so, Leofe wondered what madness prompted her to act that way. "It's a long story. So, the two of you are sisters?"

"In a sense!" Ingrid said, with a dainty laugh. "I met Eivor while she was travelling."

"Your parents, they…" Leofe began, frowning.

Ingrid looked wistful. "They came to England to flee the cold months where nothing grows. But instead they found their end at the tip of a spear…"

The snows were melting under the sun, and patches of earth showed here and there, timid signs of the coming of spring. Eivor felt rejuvenated under this newfound warmth. She needed the energy, after the turmoil of the last few days. Reuniting with Vili and his father. Fighting alongside them in glorious battle. Accompanying one more father figure to his noble end.

And then, losing herself in that ill-advised tryst with his grief-stricken son…

Gods, that had been the biggest mistake in a week full of them. It felt good, to have warm hands upon her skin, to press her body against another in utter bliss. It was why she had sought out fleeting oblivion in the arms of so many lovers across the years: that idiot Broder in Elmenham, bright Ciara in Ireland, fair Estrid in Cent…

Except…

How could Eivor ever return to Randvi without feeling like she'd betrayed her brother's wife? Without feeling as if she'd broken an unspoken oath she'd sworn to the woman? By Odin, they weren't together, not in the way that Eivor had often dreamed of, but still…

Eivor sighed, inhaling a great lungful of air to clear her thoughts. Still, by the time she'd reached the end of the path, she was as troubled as ever, her mind clouded with regret and shame. Up the hill, she spied a small, wooden house. There were no animals in the pen, no smoke indicating that a hearth was lit inside the hut. Eivor slowed down, the snow crunching under her boot; she'd heard a child's voice. The girl sounded almost… desperate.

"Why won't you just stay still!" she cried out. "Ugh! This one first... then this one... ugh! No! Stay still, stones! Or else the bad Pict-people will come for me..."

Eivor turned the corner. In front of a pile of stones, a young girl was on her knees. She couldn't have seen more than eight winters. The child stacked one rock atop another, quite carefully. Despite her efforts, her cairn fell apart in a clatter of stone. She let out another whine of frustration.

The child flinched, whirling around when she finally heard Eivor's footsteps. The latter held out her hands in a soothing gesture.

"I'm sorry," Eivor said. "I did not mean to frighten you."

The girl frowned, her eyes darting toward her home. The hut was in need of obvious repairs, and the door seemed about to fall from its hinge. The child was so young, so small. Why was she alone?

"Where are your parents, little one?" Eivor asked, crouching to the girl's eye level.

Inadvertently, the child glanced to the side of the house. Two burial mounds—fresh, from the look of them—had been stacked above the still frozen ground. Eivor's heart felt heavy with a familiar grief.

"Do you need help with your cairns?" she told the child, very gently.

The girl hesitated for a while, then mumbled, "Can you tell the stones to stand still, please? I need to build a stone man so it will protect me from the Pict-people. I keep trying but... I just can't do it right."

"Of course," said Eivor. She kneeled by the child's side, taking one stone in hand. Remembering Rosta's wise words, she assembled her pile of rocks, slowly, methodically, with the loving patience her mother had taught her. The girl's eyes were wide.

"Whoa!" she exclaimed. "You're really good at this!"

"Think of this as a test, of mind and wit," Eivor instructed. "Stack the cairn stones high and wide."

"But they keep falling..."

"You have to let the air and nature's beauty guide you," Eivor said, citing her mother. "Shape, balance, expression are key."

By now, the pile of stone was rather tall and fairly stable. The child brought her hands together, and a smile illuminated her pale face. Some colour filled her gaunt cheeks. Warmth filled Eivor's heart at the sight.

"Wow!" the girl said. "Thank you!"

"Steady your hands and your heart, tiny-giant," said Eivor. As the child looked at her with blue eyes that seemed too far too wide in that hollow face, Eivor added, "Is there anything else I can do for you?"

The smile dissipated, and the blue light in her eyes grew dim again. "No," she said, "I will be fine. Uncle and Auntie helped bury Mama and Papa, but… they have a big family. I didn't want to be a burden. But now that I'll have an army of stone men to protect me, it will be all right."

Gods, Eivor wanted to be sick. She wanted to find that girl's uncle and pummel him for making this sweet girl think she was a burden. "Would you come with me, instead?" she asked, hoarsely. "In my village, children are valued for the treasure they are." She thought of Eira and Knud and Sylvi, not to mention the little one still inside of Gudrun's belly. She thought of Alfrún, Ulfric and Cwen, who once had thought themselves a burden as well for the simple act of existing.

But most of all she thought of Mae, of a leaf in the wind, of an empty house rotting under a cold winter sun, of a letter ever unread by the one it was meant to reach. Eivor thought of a child bleeding on the ice while the wolves howled, and vowed, Never more.

"I could come with you?" said the girl. She sounded like she almost did not believe it. "Really?"

"Really," Eivor assured her. She held out her hand. "Would you like to be a Raven, tiny giant?"

"…the road back to Ravensthorpe was miserable," Ingrid continued, "but it was worth it. Eivor was right. I wouldn't have survived on my own. The Picts would have come back and—" She signed, unable to continue.

Leofe did not know what to say to such a story. "I'm sorry," she blurted out. "About your parents, I mean."

"We've made headstones for them, in the village cemetery," said Ingrid. "It makes me feel better to talk to them, even though they're not really there."

At this, the horse she'd been tending huffed and bumped its nose against her head. Ingrid laughed. "Oh! Poor Vindr! I haven't forgotten you, dear friend, don't worry!" She directed her smile toward Leofe. "I'm glad to have met you, Leofe!"

"Likewise," Leofe managed. As Alfrún led her away, she kept thinking, In my village, children are valued for the treasure they are. Had Eivor really said such a thing? It reminded Leofe of something her grandmother had once told her. "The birth of a child bring good spirits into one's home, especially if it's a girl," the old woman had said. "Those spirits protect the family from harm when the dark days of winter come. It's why the family of a groom have to pay a bride's price when they wish to marry their son to another man's daughter. It's to compensate for the loss of a precious daughter, and for the loss of the warmth and joy she carries."

"Pagan nonsense," Leofe's father had said at these words. "Mother, you should not be filling the child's head with such idiocy."

Leofe's shoulders slumped at the memory. Her father had been right; people cared if you were useful, and men didn't give a damn if that their daughters didn't want to be exchanged to another family for the price of a cow. She'd never met someone who agreed with her grandmother.

Until now, it seemed.

"Come on!" Alfrún called, as Leofe lingered. "There's still a lot of people we should meet!"