Years later she would remember those long nights, lying awake with the little one nestled to her bare skin in the dark as she fed him. She could not nurse him as a mother ought, but she could give him the warmth and comfort of it, at least. Children wanted the warmth of skin. Wanted to hear the beat of their mother's heart as they gave suck. She thought how afraid he must be, to be torn from his mother. From his home and his kind. From his very realm.

She would lay there, propped on her elbow with her forehead cradled in her palm, the little one nestled against her where she could feel the warm of his skin, the rise and fall of every breath. Odd that he should be warm. She suckled him from the bottle she'd taken with her and watched him as he slept. So peaceful, the little one. Untroubled by the worries that plagued her.

After a week her conscience began truly to prick at her and she sent to the city for Thor to be brought to join them.

The boy had come, overjoyed to find that Amma had consented, and he was to have a brother after all.

Two months they stayed at Fensalir, the three of them together, lulled by the lap of the waves on the shore and the lazy wind blowing through the tall grasses. Two months, until the wind blew more sharply and the waves growled in their sleep. Then, and only then, did she think to return home.