Caelin looked away, clearly considering it. Then he peered inside Arne’s cloak. “Are the cubs still alive?”
Arne moved his cloak aside and checked the cubs. Caelin hesitated for a moment, then leaned forward too. They watched the small bodies rising and falling with every breath. “They are.”
Caelin nodded, then reached out and stroked the back of one of the cubs.
“I can carry you, too.”
“No. They need you more than I do.”
“Caelin, I can carry you all,” Arne said softly, admiring the boy’s selflessness.
“I will walk.” Caelin waited while Arne stood and readjusted his cloak.
“Then walk in my footsteps. It will be easier.” He continued on, frequently checking to ensure the boy was still behind him. Caelin’s nose was tipped with blue, although his cheeks were pink. They walked in silence, one foot in front of the other. Their earlier tracks to the shieling were growing fainter and fainter and the snow deeper and deeper, but just as the trail ended Arne spotted a shadow not too distant and smelled the wood smoke from the fire.
“Nearly there,” he said. “Just a few more steps.”
He knocked, then called, “It’s Arne.”
“Did you—”
He lifted the wooden beam and opened the door, then pushed Caelin forward as Gemma hurried over, reaching for him.
Arne stepped inside, closed the door and locked it. Gemma was hugging and kissing Caelin while at the same time scolding him — all in Brythonic.
“Caelin! What were you thinking, running off like that? Don’t ever do that again. You could have been killed or captured or frozen to death.” Each phrase was punctuated with a kiss on his head.
“I told you. You wouldn’t listen. I heard them calling and I didn’t want them to die. They were getting cold, Mama, just like Papa and my sister.”
Gemma stilled, and he heard her draw in a shuddering breath before she lay her cheek against the top of his head. His chest felt tight. Her husband had died at Alt Clut, had he not? Had she lost a child there, too? She loved Caelin wholeheartedly. Had the Norse siege taken another child from her? He swallowed around the lump in his throat.
“We should get you out of these clothes and beside the fire.”
“I am not so cold, Mama. Arne walks fast. We need to help them first.”
“Who? What is he talking about? Who was out there?” Gemma looked at him in confusion.
Arne moved over to the fire and carefully pulled the tiny wolf cubs from inside his cloak.
“Mama, puppies!”
“Puppies?” She met Arne’s gaze.
He shook his head. “Wolf cubs. Their mother was dead. We brought the cubs in the hope of saving them.”
“I heard them calling, Mama. I had to go into the woods to get them. I’m sorry.”
“Caelin, you must promise me never to do anything like this again.”
“I promise, Mama. Can we make a bed for them?” Caelin said, now evading his mother’s attempts to hold on to him.
Arne waited until Caelin had sat down next to the fire then handed him one of the cubs. He carefully checked the remaining one over, then swapped with Caelin, noting how gentle the boy was with the tiny creatures. The cubs responded well to him, butting their heads against him and trying to nestle into his touch. Arne smiled at the expression of delight on Caelin’s face.
Gemma came and stood at his shoulder, and Arne sensed her tension.
“We can’t keep them. What happens when they grow into wolves?” Her voice was tinged with hysteria.
“We can worry about that later.”
