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Finally she said, “Are you all right, Alexander?”

His voice was low and exhausted. “It does not matter. You are almost home.”

“I can walk from here.”

He did not stop to let her slide down, and instead carried her all the way to her family’s lodge. A few feet from the door he pitched forward.

Gytha slid down and fell to her knees before she caught herself.

She turned to the bear. “Thank you.”

His great face lay upon the ground with none of his usual dignity. The scarred side of his face was upturned.

Gytha’s heart twisted in sudden sympathy. “Alexander,” she said more softly. She scratched gently behind his ear, but he did not open his eyes. His breathing was labored.

“Alexander,” she said again. Still he did not react. Worry fluttered in her heart, but she pressed her ear to his side. His heartbeat thudded beneath her ear. He must be exhausted. He had run for many miles.

He was strong. He needed rest, but he would be all right.

She had come to see her family.

She did not knock before she entered, so she startled them all.

“Gytha!” Their voices overlapped, shock and delight and excitement. In a moment she was engulfed in their hugs, their questions, and the warmth of their love.

Soon she was sitting at the table with Brinja in her lap, Halvard clinging to one leg, Sigrid braiding her hair, Solveig holding her hand, and her mother putting food in front of her as if there was no shortage.

She laughed and exclaimed over how much the little ones had grown. Ashild and Dagney were now nearly as tall as Solveig, Solveig had developed curves like the young lady she was, and Halvard was reading already. Randulf shoved a wooden carving nearly up Gytha’s nose, begging her to admire the bear he had carved. “Look! See, it’s your bear!”

Her parents sat across from her, their eyes full of questions they would not ask until the little ones were in bed. Dinner was long and slow and full of laughter. Their faces were full, with her mother’s high cheekbones soft and lovely rather than sharp, and her father’s shoulders thick with muscle from his work rather than mere bone and sinew.

“How far did you go? Where were you?” asked Halvard in his small, innocent voice.

“Where the land meets the sea to the north, at the very edge of the land. Beyond it, I think there is nothing but sea ice.”

Halvard, Randulf, and Brinja looked at her with awe. Everyone had questions. She showed them her embroidery and gave the collars to her mother to sell; they would fetch a great deal of money, for her work was very fine and the thread was exceptionally vibrant. Hildr had been repaid for her generosity with a great deal of elk venison, but Hlif and Gytha agreed that she should also be given two of the skeins of thread which Gytha had brought.

When the little ones were put to bed, the older girls plied Gytha with more questions, and she assured them she was well. Finally Hlif and Ivarr sent them to bed too, sat Gytha in a chair by the stove with a cup of tea, and drew their own chairs close.

“You look well,” Gytha said, her eyes searching their faces. “Are you?”

“Your bear brought us another elk and enough fish to feed the village,” Ivarr said. “But it all means little if you’ve been badly treated. How areyou, Honeycake?”

Gytha flushed and looked down at her hands in her lap. “I am well.” But her voice caught, and she glanced at the door. She had hardly thought of Alexander in hours.

“Did he…did anyone hurt you?” Ivarr said. There was a tension in his voice, and she knew he did not want to pry, but he wanted to know if she needed him to avenge her. He would protect her against anything.

“No one hurt me.” She bit her lip. “I was so lonely, I felt I was going mad. I wanted to come home.”

“It hasn’t been a year yet,” said her father quietly. “He didn’t touch you at all?”

“Not a touch or even a word.” She looked down. “I wonder if Alexander is hungry. He was tired when he got here.” Guilt twisted inside her, and she stood reluctantly.

“Is he outside?” Her father stood too. He caught up his axe, just in case, and followed her to the door.

The full moon smiled down on them, the light soft and bright, so the shadows seemed friendly and the snow glowed and glittered. The bear was a vast white bulk not far from the door. He had not moved in the hours since Gytha had gone inside.

She approached him cautiously, feeling that he had every right to be annoyed. “Alexander.”