The rag shepherd dogs sleeping by the doorstep looked up as Blader approached the old, well-built house, slowing to a walk. A head poked up from beside the dogs and Freyja, Blader's youngest sister, cocked her head at him, blinking her blue eyes as she patted the furry brown side of one of the shepherds.

"Blader?" she said, sitting up. Rollo, the dog she had been lying against, picked up his head, looking annoyed that he had been disturbed from his nap. "What are you doing home? Hilda's not even back yet."

Despite everything, he couldn't help smiling at the little girl, her fair blonde hair sticking up every which way and tangled with bits of grass. "I got out early," he lied, his smile starting to slip at the thought of his choice. "A surprise, to be sure."

Freyja seemed to accept that, clambering out of the pile of dogs and grasping Blader's hand. She grinned up at him as he tousled her already wild hair, picking a long piece of grass out of the blonde locks. "So, what are you going to do with your extra time?"

"Well, I'm going to get started on all my chores," Blader said, walking up to the door.

"Mama's inside," Freyja told him. "Papa and Ivan are in the field. Did Hilda get out early?"

"No," Blader said absently, pushing open the door into the Thrym home. Freyja released his hand and scampered into the kitchen as he shut the door behind them. "Mama! Blader's home."

Setting down his screencase and hanging his jacket up, Blader followed Freyja into the kitchen, feeling dread build up within him.

His mother looked up from where she was kneading bread dough, dark her eyes looking so much older than they were. Strands of light blonde hair, so much like her daughter's, had escaped from the tight bun at the nape of her neck. Lines creased her face and she looked weary, as always. Spring was always busy on the Thrym farm, between sowing the seed and the cows giving birth. But there was something more in her face today, something that hadn't been there when Blader and Hilda had left for school that morning, and it was in her eyes, which seemed to have aged ten years since seven in the morning.

She must know what happened.

"Blader," Gunil Thrym said, and her voice sounded tired, disappointed. "I got a call today."

Blader stopped. She already knew. "I'm sorry," he said quietly. "I really am, Mama." Did Sigrif tell her about my choice?

"Why?" she asked, as Freyja first looked up at Blader and then at their mother in confusion. "I asked you to try. Is it so hard to try?"

"It was different this time," Blader told her, his voice barely audible. "I punched him."

His mother furrowed her brow. "You punched who?"

"Jorid," Blader answered. "Jorid Racarl. He's the one who always gets me in trouble. I knocked him down. That's what did it."

Jorid. Who used to get sympathy from Gunil until he started to get Blader into trouble regularly. "Blader," she said now, her voice rising. "That doesn't make things better! You're still expelled!"

Freyja looked up at Blader, horrified. "Expelled?" She looked over at their mother. "Blader was expelled?"

"I'm sorry," Blader said lamely, not bothering to correct them that he hadn't been expelled yet. That would involve mentioning his choice about enlisting, which wouldn't go over well. He took a deep breath in an effort to keep himself calm. "I didn't mean to be expelled."

"Your brother gave up school so you could get an education!" Gunil cried out, startling both Blader and Freyja. "Ivan works himself to the bone on the farm so you could take his place at school! And this is how you honor your brother's sacrifice?" Pressing her lips together, she regarded her second oldest child with anger and disappointment in her eyes. "Why couldn't you just try?"

Blader turned, leaving the kitchen and stepping out. He didn't mean to slam the door behind him, but he did. Freyja didn't even bother to follow him and his mother didn't call him back.

The sky was clear overhead as Blader ran across to the barn, the familiar smell of manure and straw filling his nostrils as he entered. The stalls were empty as he snatched the pitchfork from the wall and opened the first stall door. Between the several horses the Thrym family owned and the small herd of cattle, the stalls always needed cleaning. Ivan and their father, Karl, spent all day working out in the fields. They didn't have nearly enough time to feed and care for all the animals after the wearisome work of growing their next crop. That job belonged to Blader and Hilda, along with a limited amount of chores delegated to Freyja, like caring for the garden and the chickens.

Angrily, Blader shoved the pitchfork tongs into the straw, lifting a mound of manure and emptying it into a bucket. Again and again, he attacked the straw, cleaning the stall of manure before he spread out the straw again, making sure it was thick enough for the animals. He had completely changed the bedding the day before and nothing more needed to be added today. He dragged his bucket over to the next stall, the container being only half full, and began the process all over again.

Mama doesn't know about my choice.

She doesn't know that I have a choice.

What am I going to choose?

Enlisting in the einherjar meant enduring the test known as the Reenactment. It subjected the recruits to trials drawn from the days of past, before the destruction caused by Ragnarok and the rebirth of the Cosmos after the all-consuming fire. Einherjar recruits had to survive the Reenactment and prove themselves in order to enter the ranks of the High King's elite warriors, overseen by his Valkyries.

"Hey." The voice of Hilda came from over by the stall door. Blader turned to see his sister leaning against the door, balanced just right so the open half-door wouldn't swing out and cause her to lose her balance. Her twin brown braids hung over her shoulders and her dark blue eyes were pinned on Blader. "Would have thought you'd have detention again. You never beat me home."

Blader scowled as Hilda lifted an eyebrow at him. "Freyja told me you were expelled. She said Mama was quite upset."

"Yep," Blader grunted, shoving his pitchfork back into the straw. "And I'd appreciate it if you started cleaning Fjorsen's stall."

Hilda rolled her eyes and pushed the door shut. "Fine. Be angry. You do know Papa's going to kill you."

"I know," Blader muttered, scooping out the last mound of dung and leaning his pitchfork against the side of the stall. Grabbing the handles of the bucket, he hauled it outside and pulled it over to the compost pile, emptying it so he could get to work on the next stall.

What would his father think of his choice? Karl Thrym had served in the einherjar like his father and his grandfather and his great-grandfather before him, a fourth generation legacy. But he had never spoken to either of his sons about going into the einherjar and talked about his service very little. At times, Blader almost forgot his father was a veteran at all, if it wasn't for the sword and shield collecting dust in the backroom.

What will everyone think of my choice?

In silence, Hilda and Blader worked until late afternoon, cleaning the stables and preparing the stock's feed for the evening. As the sun began to set, they headed out and grabbed the horses, saddling them up and riding out to bring in the several cows the Thrym family owned. Fjorsen, the dun pony with the black stripes in his mane, was particularly feisty today, and Blader had a difficult time getting him to settle down.

Hilda, who would normally laugh at him while her mount, Sig, behaved like a dream, didn't say a word. The silence from the barn extended to their daily ride as they cantered through their pastureland, searching for the cattle.

The cool evening wind blew past Blader, helping to ease his tension a bit. Even on a skittish Fjorsen, riding always had a calming effect on him. Although not as relaxing as ordinary, due to the horse's insistence on shying to the side away from some invisible threat every once in a while, Blader felt the knot in his stomach begin to unwind, just enough for new anxieties to creep in.

What was he going to do?

Be expelled or join the Reenactment?

Unfortunately, the wind could not chase those thoughts away.

"There are the cows," Hilda called, pointing to the group of bovines grazing down by the creek. Slowing their horses, the Thrym siblings rode down the small hill, leaning back in their saddles so as not to unbalance their mounts, and halted once at the bottom of the hill.

The cows, meanwhile, looked up and over at them, waiting for the cue to head back up towards the barn. They didn't look too happy that they had to leave their grazing, but Blader knew that if he and Hilda didn't bring the cows in, the wolves would get them. But the cattle weren't too aware of that. The wolves had been quiet for far too long for the animals to fear them in the light of day.

"I'll lead," Hilda proposed. "Fjorsen's acting up too much."

Blader nodded. "Go."

Hilda urged Sig forward, rising out of the saddle as he moved into an active trot. She directed the horse around behind the cattle as Blader and Fjorsen followed behind her, giving the cows a wider berth in case the horse decided to spook again.

The cows began to move forward, heading up the hill in the direction of the barn. One of them, however, lagged behind. Hilda gestured at the stray. "Round her up, Blader."

With a short nod, Blader turned Fjorsen and looped him around behind the stray. The cow seemed to give him a resentful look before heading after the rest of the small herd and Blader trotted after the cow.

Hilda nodded in satisfaction as the herd moved up the hill. The two of them herded the cows up towards the barn, and in the distance, Blader could see Ivan and his father coming in from the fields on the other two horses, the beautiful draft horses dwarfing Fjorsen and Sig. The oxen followed docilely along behind them, tired after a hard day's work.

Glancing back at Blader, Hilda lifted an eyebrow at him and he could practically hear what she was thinking. How are you going to tell Papa?

The cows headed into the small corral outside their side of the barn and Hilda closed the gate behind them. Blader dismounted, watching as his brother and father approached the barn. Both of them had weariness written in their faces, mixed in with the sweat and dirt. Early spring was the time when they spent hours plowing their fields, working their draft horses and the two oxen hard to prepare the land for planting. On weekends, Blader was out there with them, while Hilda lent a hand to their mother and Freyja in the garden and with the housework.

The land of Njordesden was the most suitable to farming in the entirety of Skjalf, one of the seven regions of Midgard, and Skjalf had the best land in Midgard. Nevertheless, it was hard work, from sunup to sundown. Karl Thrym couldn't work the farm by himself and hence Ivan had dropped out of school to help him farm it.

If Ivan hadn't, Blader would have had to.

In the eyes of everyone in the Thrym household – including his own – Blader had an obligation to Ivan to do well in his schooling, to get an education and perhaps be something more than a farmer. He could then help Hilda and Freyja get a leg up in the world. That was the expectation his parents had for him.

But he couldn't do that when he was expelled.

/**/

So, what did you think of Chapter 2? You got to see more of Blader's family and home - what did you think of them?

Thanks for reading; I hope you enjoyed! Please vote and comment, let me know what you thought of it!

Skylar Wittenborn