“It’s water!”
“Is that so surprising?”
“All they gave me was ale and mead. There’s drinkable water?”
Tove gave a disappointed shake of the head. “All the water is drinkable. Except what’s downstream of the toilets. They don’t drink it, for superstition or preference for ale.”
“Well, I’m glad that we’re gone then.”
That line was enough to bring a smile to Tove’s face and some of the energy she’d had the day before was back. She talked cheerily about the tales she’d heard of Lofgrund. Stone walls and buildings and streets and hundreds of people. Before the fire ran low, Tove packed up the things they’d used and put them neatly back into the pack. They slept next to the dying embers of the cook fire, the woods quiet except for the occasional hoot of an owl.
Erik rose to the sound of a flock of cawing birds passing overhead. Tove had slept through them so he went to her bedroll and poked her with his foot. She groaned but started to sit up as Erik turned his attention to the woods around them. The ground was surprisingly comfortable under the thin coverings they’d slept in. It was a refreshing morning, somehow he felt energized by an odd feeling of freedom. There was no large man in a closed space who was going to send him anywhere to work for coin.
Trying to re-roll his bedding proved to be trickier than Erik had expected and Tove pushed him away from it, finishing the job herself. It was another reminder that he wasn’t suited to the world he found himself in and he began to understand the comfort of a place like Kvernes to the ones who’d stayed there. Whatever else it was, it was simple to live in. Still, the thought of returning made him less comfortable than whatever things he couldn’t yet do well.
Erik took the pack, insisting that he carry it in spite of Tove’s protests that the chief of the warband shouldn’t do such work. It was heavier than he’d expected. For Tove to have run with it, her small frame must have been hiding muscle fairly well. If she could handle it then, to Erik’s mind, that was all the more reason for him to be the one carrying it. He needed to make himself strong, so much as he could. Away from the numbing ease of Kvernes, he remembered clearly his brief time with Göll and Vár and knew that it was only a beginning.
They worked their way east through the forest steadily. It was well before noon when they came across a road moving north across their path.
“Are we far enough from Kvernes to follow it?”
Tove thought on it a moment, looking south down the road. “We’ll move faster on the road.”
The road it was. The walk was quiet, with Tove grabbing bits of dried meat every hour or two. They moved to the woods to move around smaller towns that Tove knew were immediately attached to the road. They were all similar to Gandrup, small farms cut into the land, being worked endlessly by the people who had built them up. They’d passed the third such farm when Tove finally relaxed.
“That was the last of the farms which trades regularly with Kvernes.” Her voice was cheerful and she could hardly keep herself still, walking from side to side of the road in front of Erik. “They won’t know my face now.”
“And I won’t have to explain who I am.” Erik huffed a laugh, adjusting the pack. “I’m not good at talking like… you guys.”
“You’re easy enough to understand.” Tove kicked a rock off into the woods, holding her pose while she watched it fly. “And dressed the part now too.”
Erik looked down at his clothes. They were dirty from working the farms and sweating nearly constantly the previous day. Still, they weren’t uncomfortable because of it, but Tove had made him think of them and now he felt a strong need to bathe. “How far to the next town?”
Tove swayed her head in thought as she looked up the road. “Two hours, if I remember it correctly. I’ve never walked it myself.”
It was an easy enough walk, the main road being as well-kept as the others he’d traveled. They chatted idly about what sort of foods they hoped would be in Lofgrund, a conversation that was cut short by the appearance of a person coming down the road in the opposite direction of them. Tove came to Erik’s side, walking stiffly.
“Who do you think it might be?” she asked Erik, clearly not realizing how ridiculous expecting an answer from him would be.
He still managed to give one. “Maybe just a trader.”
There was a man walking next to a large black horse pulling a cart. Erik couldn’t see what the cart held, but the man looked young, maybe just a bit older than he was.
“Hail, friends!” A hand of greeting went up as the man came closer to them. “Strange to see travelers this far west.” He brought his horse to a stop and looked them over. “I am Kjalarr.”
“Erik.” He motioned to Tove who said nothing. “And Tove.”
“Good names. I like them both.” He turned, reaching over into his cart and Erik could see Tove’s arm shift backward toward where she’d stowed the knife she’d taken off of Vali. His arms came back over holding a small basket of fruit, raspberries
