She did the same to the other side. Tears flowed down his cheeks, urine soaking the ground beneath him as he wheezed.
When she brought the hammer down again, she caught the horror in his eyes. She knew that look—felt it in her soul.
Every time he tortured her, she’d braved that horror, endured the sickness in her stomach that a person could do such horrible things and enjoy it. Her anger faded, and she was left with a hollow chest. Though she had killed and tortured, she had never once taken delight from the acts.
Standing, she grasped the hammer as her magic swirled under her skin. She was beginning to learn the feel of it again, trusting in itswarnings and its comfort. She was safe for now—she did not have to fear him anymore.
Though her desire for revenge was a living, breathing entity urging her on, Solveig removed herself, looping the hammer through her belt.
Booth tried to call out through his gag, but she couldn’t pick out the words, not that she would listen if she could. Solveig kept moving, not looking back.
She strode out of the cave for the last time, picking up the pack and slinging it over her shoulder. She checked that the knives were sheathed, her own dagger among them, and placed a hand on the hilt of the hammer, a comfort settling around her.
It was time to go home.
Themoonwasbarelyvisible in the stormy night as Solveig trekked slowly and quietly through the forest.
Five days had passed since she’d left the cave. Her meagre supplies, though rationed, were gone. Hunger gnawed at her insides, leaving her weak and exhausted. Despite the threat of creatures that ruled the forest, she tried to sleep through the day and travel only at night under the cloak of darkness.
She was not scared of the dark. It had become her closest companion over the past three months. Daylight was the one to fear, where she would be exposed and vulnerable. The shadows seemed to answer her, gathering around as a shield to protect her from her enemies.
The first two days in the forest had been harrowing when she had to constantly hide from the two dark figures she couldn’t shake. Days later and they hadn’t given up. It had been a close call, but she managed to escape by the luck of Freyja, not that she believed in the power of the goddess. She knew better.
Something else kept her capturers away, either her heightened desire to not be found or their dwindling wits—they didn’t search as thoroughly as she imagined they would. Still, she took more precautions, travelling after the sun went down, making as little sound as possible.
Night travelling had its own dangers, though. Beasts prowled through the trees hunting for prey.
Solveig set traps in hopes of snagging the very real threats. It provided much needed entertainment for her to imagine the Fae getting caught in one of her snares and slowly bleeding out. And if she managed to catch an animal, all the better for her to refill her food supply. But these beasts were too cunning for her to capture and kill.
At least the river was a constant source of water, although it did not provide cover for her to hide. She managed to snag a few fish, which had not been enough to quell the aching in her belly.
The river was indeed the one she recognized, the one that would lead her home. It bled from the ocean and snaked through Vanaheim. Her people were camped along one of its bends, and it was only a matter of time before she succumbed to the wilderness or succeeded in finding her way.
As she walked downstream, she wondered why they would keep her so close to such a distinct landmark. The river was wide, flanked by rocky, tree-covered mountains.
They likely had not expected her to escape.
Following the river was the only way to make it home, but it had its risks. Her captors had rightly assumed she would head in this direction. Her camp was south, all she had to do was follow the river, heading in the same direction as the current, until she recognized the familiar mountainscape and outcropping that she had visited numerous times before.
Then she’d have to hike through the forest to get to camp. The distance took an hour from home to the water’s edge on horseback—in this state, it would take her a full day on foot. If she made it at all. But she had no other choice.
The dreadful sun was rising on her sixth day since escaping. Solveig needed to pick up her pace, her body giving out more frequently. She was close, she could feel it.
Instead of resting in the morning as she had done for the past five days, she kept walking. She needed to make her way to the river to get some water and hopefully a fish. It was dangerous to travel along the shoreline in the open without the tree cover to protect her.
Many times in the last few days, Solveig had felt like eyes were tracking her every move, thought she heard phantom footsteps following her. The forest was playing tricks with her mind—there was no one around but her.
If it were her captors, they would’ve grabbed her by now. Or they were following her so she could lead them right to the Southern Wilds. Neither option was ideal, but Solveig pressed forward.
The sun was hot at midday and Solveig would’ve been sweating if she wasn’t so dehydrated. She was feeling the early signs of delirium and started to make her way to the river for some water. Every once in a while, she froze, thinking she heard the sounds of Fenrir’s paws digging into earth. But that was impossible. Fenrir was dead. Or bound. Or had never even existed. Depending on which history was to be believed.
Just as she was about to step beyond the treeline, she tripped over a rock and crashed to the ground.
Her head hit something hard, her eyesight going blurry from the impact. She could make out the water glittering in the distance, taunting her. When she attempted to stand, her body revolted and tried to purge its already empty stomach.
Crawling and scraping her way to the water when her legs refused to function, she nearly made it before her magic burst to life under her skin. The pain of it after being dormant for days was a shock to her system. Her body collapsed once more and her eyes would not reopen.
She was vaguely aware of the sound of footsteps approaching at a quick pace, a voice calling, and strong arms lifting her. The smell of home and something else familiar she couldn’t name surrounded her, and she heard the soft whisper of, “I have you, hold on.”
