Rammedwas right, for the beast was a beautiful, black-furred ram, impressively large with fine ebony horns at a gentle curve, no doubt having been spooked by our commotion in the woods.
The ram stilled, dead almost instantly, and though Freyr too was panting, he smiled over the intruding beast between us and said, “Not our stag, but looks like I win.”
“But… that’smy—”
“Don’t be a sore loser, Ravnur.”
I flopped onto my back—and noticed that my pendant had dislodged from my tunic!
Swiftly, I shoved it back out of view just as Freyr leapt to his feet, hefted the ram up over his shoulders, and grinned down at me like a barn cat who had just caught a… well.
Raven.
“Best get this back to town for cleaning, eh? Or at least back to Gull, so we can try our hands at another hunt. You can borrow my bow. Work on that form of yours.”
“Just so long as there aren’t any more wagers.”
“It was your idea!”
I scowled, but when Freyr, effortlessly carrying the ram across his shoulders, still reached a hand down to offer me assistance, I took it.
I wasn’t really upset. As much as I longed to know the taste of his lips, I was glad to have exactly what we did. To spend time together with all my feelings for him out in the open, and him willing to discover whether he could share them without any of it stifling the friendship we’d fostered.
Besides, Freyr looked impossibly handsome carrying the beast he had slain, and eventually, after he no doubt outshined me again while helping me work on my form, I would get to hold onto him during the trip home.
I carried our bows as we headed back toward Gull.
“Well?” I called after Freyr.
“Well what?”
“What are you going to request for our next outing, oh champion?”
“Oh! That’s easy! Since hunting is my forte, next, little raven, I want to enjoy yours.” He glanced at me with a roughish grin. “Think on your favorite tale, dear storyteller, for I will be looking forward to hearing it.”
A performance, like one of any number of nights in years past when I captivated Freyr and sometimes the entire city with a tale or two.
So be it. If that was what he wanted, it was an easy request, for while Freyr might think he had put me on the spot, I knew exactly which tale I would tell.
Chapter 3
FREYR
“Blast!Thisramisdetermined to thwart me, even in death!” I muttered.
I took no shame in admitting I spoke aloud to myself often, as I spend much time alone, and who was one to talk to when with no one but oneself?
In my case, my sword. And Gull, if I was near the great steed. If I dared say that speaking to either of them was the same as speaking to myself, they would leave me in a heartbeat for, well, Ravnur most like. Both had a liking for him, in ways they were never quite cordial with others. Tools, forged instruments or not, they had spirits in them without a doubt.
I took a breath to calm the fidgety tremors in my hands as I looked upon the severed ram’s horn I had been painstakingly coring, cleaning, and polishing. Free of its marrow, washed, and now near pristine in its shine, it was practically perfect, but my latest attempt to smooth a rough edge with a piece of glass had resulted in a scratch. I needed to stop rushing, but between kingly and godly duties, I had barely had time to give the horn its due attention. I wanted it done today.
For when I saw Ravnur again.
I might have slain the beast, but ’twas with Ravnur’s arrow, and a turning point for us—well, for me—attempting to see him through new eyes. Could I say I loved my hirdman? Not so quickly, no. But the want was there. The inkling was there. And I didn’t want to sully our progression with a piss poor job at making him a drinking horn out of our prey. But how to fix the scratch without making it worse?
“While I appreciate the creativity, won’t that pinch a bit going in?”
I nearly toppled backward at being so thoroughly startled by my unexpected guest. “Loki!” I shouted up at him, where he loomed over me from behind my workbench.
