‘It is winter,’ he said with a shrug, as if that explained it. When her horrified expression did not change, he added sourly, ‘Do not tell me the Jarl is so fine these days that he keeps his livestock out of the Hall in winter?’
‘Hedoes, actually!’ she snapped, as she began to climb the stairs up to the entrance. The railing shook worryingly beneath her hand, and she was half-afraid the whole thing would collapse.
Picking up her skirts she carefully continued one step at a time. Even though she tried to be vigilant, her boot still slipped on some icy chicken droppings at the top of the stairs, and after a little desperate dancing she managed to regain her footing. Turning back, she glared at Runar accusingly.
He was surprisingly close, his hands up as if ready to catch her, but he dropped them when he caught her condemning look. ‘Well, I am not a Jarl. I am a simple man, and like any othernormalperson I keep my animals inside in winter where it is warm.’
Undisturbed by his tone, she nodded. ‘Yes, you should, but inpens! There is no need to have them wandering around the entire cabin. I am surprised a wolf hasn’t strolled in to gobble them up!’
‘The wind must have knocked the door open.’
The carelessness of his answer enraged her, and she couldn’t help herself. ‘Do you not realise howluckyyou are? To have your own homehandedto you from birth! My mother and I have relied on the kindness of others our entire lives. We have never even had our own chamber, let alone a house! You should be protecting it for your children, and their family to come. This is such a...waste!’
He stared up at her from the bottom of his crumbling staircase, a flush of pink just visible above his thick beard, and she immediately regretted reprimanding him.
‘I have no children...’ he said finally, and then he walked up and past her. The doorframe rattled as he pushed the broken door fully open and entered his home. ‘And I am not forcing you to stay here, so go back to the caves if you wish!’
She might have considered doing just that—if she’d had any idea of how to survive a life alone. But she had never learned to hunt, and she knew without a doubt that she would starve without him.
Perhaps she had been too harsh.
Looking after a house all alone must be a lot of hard work, and even though he had chosen this life, she suspected Runar was lonely and sad at times—which might explain why he took no pride in his house. She should be kinder and more understanding about his unique way of living, she decided, and scolded herself for being too honest.
She would never have spoken to anyone back at Gudvangen like that! The tiredness and hunger had obviously brought out the worst in her.
Embla took a deep breath and followed Runar into the cabin. It appeared as if he had divided the longhouse into two sections. One was for his animals, which only consisted of a few hens and goats, and one was for his personal space.
See! He has separated them...a bit.
She had lived in a Jarl’s Hall, after all; it was unfair to judge his humble home in comparison. Neither space had belonged to her, and even though she would have loved even a bed to call her own, who was she to berate him for not taking better care of his property?
She was a nobody, a fatherless daughter who constantly relied on the kindness of others.
As she moved aside the fur partition and walked into the private chamber, she was relieved to finally see some furniture. There was a large bed to one side, a table, and some chests that looked as if they were also used as chairs by the position of one at the table.
Runar was building a fire on the central fire stone, striking his flint with sharp thrusts of his hand. Guilt twisted in her belly at the offence she had caused him.
‘I am sorry...again... I don’t know why I keep behaving so rudely, other than my own tiredness perhaps. Thank you for letting me stay here. It is not my place to criticise your home or how you live.’
Runar paused for a moment, then gave one final strike of the flint, which ignited the kindling with a hiss. The young flames lit up his face more clearly, and she realised he looked weary, as if he were not the only person disappointed by the state of his home.
‘You are right to reprimand me. I have not managed it well... It did not seem worthwhile with only my own comfort to think of, and my laziness has let it go to ruin.’
‘Not ruin,’ she exclaimed, even though she had said similar only moments before. She dragged one of the chests closer to the fire and stretched out her hands to warm them. ‘It just needs a little tidying, and a few repairs. I can help. After all, I have nothing better to do while we wait for the ice to melt.’
His face brightened a little and he placed another log on the fire, pushing the remaining chest to sit beside hers. Before he joined her, he unpacked some supplies from the chest. A few vegetables, and a clay pot, which he handed to her.
‘I only ask you help me with the meals—you are an excellent cook.’
Peeking inside the pot, she realised it contained pickled herring. If he had other salted or pickled meats it would not be too hard to make decent meals. She smiled, cheered not only by the food, but also because he seemed to hold no grudge against her.
‘Gladly, I enjoy that task above all others.’
‘Then I will make repairs and hunt...to make your stay here more comfortable.’
‘Thank you,’ she said and grinned.
‘Why have you and your mother never had your own home?’
