Arm in arm Angrboða and Thorsten walk into the town square. All the carts from the vendors had been boarded up or hauled away for the night and the commons area took on a different feel than it had during the daytime. Thorsten looked at the beautiful young woman on his arm and thought to himself how lucky he was.

The heat from inside the tavern hit Angrboða so hard, she stumbled backwards upon entering the pubhouse. Had Thorsten been behind her, he would have caught and steadied her. However, he was leading the way carrying Bjornvin in his brawny arms while Angrboða followed with Kirsten holding her hand. After a moment, Angrboða acclimated quickly. She had forgotten what it felt like to be warm. Kirsten and Bjornvin had forgotten too and were grateful to be reminded.

Angrboða slid and hit the ground hard. Fortunately, she was unhurt and both children were still safely holding her by each hand. They had been lucky enough to encounter the kindly toymaker willing to exchange his wares for a smile. Angrboða doubted they’d be so lucky as to find a healer who’d make such a trade.

From where he stood across the square, Thorsten watched Angrboða fall to the ground. Seeing her possibly hurt snapped him out of his stupor and he sprung into action, racing across the village square to her side. He held out his hand to her with a look of concern etched on his comely face.

As Thorsten closed the space between himself and his future bride, he suddenly found himself struck by and inability to think of anything intelligent to say.

Erik was a jealous man who coveted his brother’s wife. He desired to possess her beauty, her charm, her intellect, even her very voice. His covetous nature was no secret to those who knew him well. His brother knew it. His brother’s wife knew it. For the sake of friendship, they both chose to downplay his duplicity and focus instead on his better qualities of which were few.

The one gift Erik did possess was that of storytelling. He could weave a tale of tragedy or humor on a whim. Indulging his ego, his stories often revolved around his own experiences leading others to delight in his own life’s happenings. When his brother Thorsten died, he told stories no more.

Thorsten’s final request of his brother was to build him a boat – a funeral pyre on which his body would be pushed out to sea and set alight by flaming arrows as was done for Viking warriors of old, for Thorsten was a Viking warrior of old.