“You menace!”
He laughs as I continue my mock offense.
“You troll!”
I toss a small fur at him, one of the many adorning his chair. He catches it, giving me a wide grin.
“So, back to your thrust,” he says. “You need to practice aiming, right?”
“Oh, definitely.”
“I have a plan.”
“A plan? This I have to see.”
Ari grabs a knife, his arm flexes as he does. My eyes are a cat lapping the honeyed milk that is this man’s form. He leans the fur against the wall, leather facing us, and stabs the knife through it. He lets it go, leaving the fur hanging on the wall.
“If your plan is to decorate your barren walls,” I say, “it seems you could use a woman’s touch.”
“Surely I could use a woman’s touch,” he laughs. “But I’m not done yet.”
“I wonder what’s coming.”
He grabs a coal from the edge of the fire. I consider warning him that he might burn himself, but decide against it. He’s a big boy, and after all, he would just heal magically if he did. Hetakes the coal and rubs it against the suspended leather, in the dead center. This is his plan? To hang a fur on the wall and draw a dark circle on it? What a strange man. I guess there’s some Jotnar logic behind it all.
“I don’t get it,” I say.
He taps the dark circle in the middle, smiling broadly.
“This is your target.”
It dawns on me. I thought the skald had gone mad, but it’s me being incredibly slow. A smile grows on my face. He wants me to practice. He wants me to grow. Ari can be rude. He can be cocky. But no one can say he isn’t supportive.
“Thank you,” I tweet like a little bird, “but, are you sure you want holes in your wall?”
We both laugh. My head tingles with a fuzzy sensation—companionship.
“Some planks are a small price to pay for your mastery,” he says.
“I can practice tomorrow, outside, so I don’t destroy everything you own.”
“Objects are objects. I want to see you do this. Come, come.”
He grabs a bone and tosses it on the floor, crushing it under his boot. I wince at his carelessness. Men. Filthy beasts. He scoops up the splinters and sits on the bed, leaning against the wall. A giant smile, almost childish, paints his face as he gestures for me to join him.
I raise an eyebrow.
“You scheming Jotnar,” I say slyly. “A simple trick to get a girl into your bed.”
“You’re a woman,” he says. “You said so yourself.”
“True but?—”
“Besides, your mind jumps straight to your own fantasies. I’m hoping you hit the target.”
I giggle as I stand, screwing my face in mock disgust. Jumping on his bed, I scoot beside him. Our arms are pressed against each other, sending a shiver rippling through my body.
“My fantasies? With a bandit like you? Don’t make me laugh.”
