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“And take it out of the mouths of my own children? I would rather die.” Hlif sat up, the movements betraying her weakness, and sat with her back against the tapestry hanging on the wall of the lodge. Her eyes were sunken and feverish, and she whispered to her husband, “They need you to survive the winter. Go eat.”

At this moment, there was a muffled thud against the door.

“What was that?” Ivarr straightened, his tired eyes suddenly sharp. He strode across the room, gaunt and grim, only stumbling once. He took up his axe in one hand before he wrenched open the door.

An elk lay across the doorway, its neck broken. The body was still warm.

“What is this?” Ivarr knelt to examine the animal and suddenly fell back with a cry. The great bear loomed above him, immense and terrifying.

“It is a gift for you and your children. You are hungry. Eat.”

Gytha heard the words clearly, but Ivarr did not seem to. He stared up at the enormous creature with both hands upon his axe.

“The bear is a friend,” said Gytha, feeling shaky. “Thank you, Master Bear.”

The bear dropped to all fours and disappeared into the night.

For some minutes Ivarr struggled to drag the elk around the house to the storeroom. The bear returned, took the elk’s throat in his mouth, and dragged it easily around the lodge to the storeroom door. Then it disappeared again.

It took all of Ivarr’s strength and the help of Sigrid and Solveig to drag the elk the last few feet to the rope. When the carcass was in position, Ivarr attached the rope of the block and tackle system, which was designed so that even a child could lift a great weight. He hauled on the rope until the elk was off the ground, tied off the rope, and then sank to his knees, dizzy with hunger and fever. When he could stand, he found his knives and methodically dressed the elk, saving everything. Solveig took some of the blood to make blood pudding, and the rest went into small bowls to be frozen for later. The organs would be eaten, and the intestines would be used to make sausage casings. And of course, the best was the meat, which would age in the frigid storeroom. Gytha and Sigrid helped with this familiar task. They put the bowls of entrails at the far outer corner of the storeroom with the bucket of blood to freeze. The rich organ meat would give them strength as they waited for the meat to age.

By the time they were finished with the elk, the blood pudding was ready. Hlif roused enough to eat, for now that there was food for tomorrow, she admitted she was a little hungry. They ate nearly all of Gytha’s earnings, most of the meat of the chicken and many of the potatoes and old carrots. When theyfinished, Hlif and Gytha put the bones and scraps and the tops of the carrots into a pot to simmer to make a rich stock.

For the first time in weeks, Ivarr picked up his drum and played softly while the children scurried around making the lodge ready for sleep.

At last, the family slipped into their beds, and they slept with hope in their hearts and full bellies for the first time in months.

Gytha woke to her father and mother murmuring quietly to each other over the table, steaming mugs in front of them. She strained to hear their words.

“I don’t know what possessed that bear to leave last night.”

“I didn’t see it at all.” Hlif had been lost in a feverish doze when the bear disappeared. This morning, her face was terribly pale, with blotches of pink high on each gaunt cheek.

“I thought it meant to come inside and take me or one of the children.” Ivarr spoke under his breath, more to himself than to his wife. “Perhaps it wasn’t hungry. Wild animals are wild, you know, unpredictable.”

Gytha sat up, feeling the edges of fever not yet passed. She swung her feet to the floor and found her sheepskin slippers. Shivering, she pulled her sweater over her head, tucked the blanket back around Solveig, and made her way to the table.

“What did you mean when you said the bear was a friend?” Her father’s eyes were sunken and shadowed with hunger and fatigue, and they held a gleam of fever.

“He walked us home from Hildr’s lodge,” Gytha whispered. “He called Solveig ‘little sister’ and told us both to warm our hands in his fur.”

“It can talk?” Her mother turned to her in surprise.

“You didn’t hear it? Solveig and I both understood him.” Gytha bit her lip, feeling strangely shy.

Ivarr frowned thoughtfully. “Do you trust it? I have never heard of a bear being safe. Especially not in winter.”

Gytha nodded, and then, under her father’s sharp scrutiny, rose to pour herself a mug of steaming water and give herself a moment to think. When she sat again, she said, “He had a kind voice, Pabbi. I do trust him, even if it makes little sense.”

The little ones began to stir in their beds, and Ivarr pulled on his heavy work clothes. “I’ll go process that elk,” he said. “I think we’ll survive the winter after all.” He put a hand on Gytha’s shoulder as he moved around the table.

They ate blood soup, liver soaked in milk and fried in the elk’s own fat, and boiled potatoes for lunch and dinner. Solveig and Sigrid shredded carrots and made them into sweet cakes with the last of their flour and honey.

These meals, and those in the following week, lent them all much needed strength. Ivarr’s cheeks were still gaunt, but there was a little color in them, and his eyes were bright and full of hope.

None of the little ones had gotten sick, but they had grown weak and lethargic from hunger. The elk had given the children new life, and they bounced around the lodge, eager to help with chores and begging their older sisters for more reading lessons.

Yet Hlif remained flushed with fever, and even after a week, her hands trembled when she picked up needle and thread to do the mending. She dropped the cloth four times, and then she fell asleep with her head flopped awkwardly to the side, her cheeks hot and red and her fingers icy.