A crisp, chilled morning, Yrsa stirred under the thick fur covers of her bed, reluctant to leave the warmth. She willed herself out from beneath them, and for a moment, she admired her youthful naked form before slipping on a thick wool tunic. "Yrsa!" her mother's voice called out sharply, "You'll be late for breakfast. Your father won't wait." Astrid stood in the doorway, hands on hips, her own blonde braids framing a fa...

Yrsa lay in her fur-covered bed. The cold weather was growing more fierce, winter was on its way, only a few weeks away. She had been dreaming of Harald again; she had seen him in the training circle yesterday, sparring with the other warriors. She thought back to the way he moved, swift and strong. She sighed as she sat up, rubbing her eyes. She could hear the sounds of the village outside her window, the smell of cooked...

The whetstone slid along the axe blade with a slow, practiced rhythm. Harald’s hands were broad and scarred, his knuckles split from last week’s brawl. He didn’t look up when the door creaked open, didn’t pause when the cold wind rushed in. Winter had teeth here, and the longhouse always smelled of smoke and damp fur. "Your axe will be sharper than your wits if you keep at it," Yrsa said, leaning against the doorframe. Th...

Yrsa awakes, warm, yet alone beneath Harald’s cloak. She spins around, seeing Harald cooking the kill they made a few hours ago. The old bear pelt smelled like woodsmoke and juniper berries, its weight pressing Yrsa into the packed earth of the cave floor. She blinked crust from her lashes, the flicker of Harald’s fire painting his silhouette against the limestone walls. He worked with the quiet precision of someone who’d...