Bad behavior

Sigurd was far behind, but her heart still pounded as if he were right behind her. Guiding her horse deeper into the forest, she let the shadows and the dense trees swallow her whole. 

The air was damp and heavy, filled with the earthy scent of moss and wet bark. Twigs snapped underfoot, and the occasional rustle in the underbrush made her flinch.

She guided her horse deeper into the woods and toward Erik Gustavson’s land.

When she was certain she was far enough, she dismounted. Her knees buckled, and she sank to the ground, the cool soil pressing against her palms. 

Hot tears spilled down her cheeks, falling faster than she could wipe them away. She clenched her fists against the earth, as though she could press her pain into the ground and leave it behind.

Sigurd's face haunted her—the look in his eyes, cold and menacing, burned in her mind. She couldn’t shake the feeling that he was capable of far more than she dared imagine. A shiver ran down her spine, but it wasn’t just from the chill in the air.

The forest was still, as if holding its breath. The first whispers of dusk stretched the shadows long and thin, wrapping around her like an invisible cloak. 

She didn’t know how long she sat there, her thoughts heavy and chaotic. She might even have drifted into a restless sleep, lulled by the murmurs of the wind in the trees.

When she opened her eyes, a figure emerged in the distance. Through the thickening gloom, she saw him—Erik Gustavson. He stood by the water’s edge, his tall frame silhouetted against the twilight sky.

For a moment, she froze, unsure if she should approach. What if he turned her away? But where else could she go?

Hesitating, she gripped the horse’s reins tightly and guided it forward, her steps careful and deliberate. As she drew closer, she caught the faint sound of the water lapping at the shore and the rustling of leaves above. 

Erik didn’t turn at first, his back straight, his posture rigid. He seemed almost like a shadow made flesh, blending seamlessly into the darkening forest.

When he finally turned, his expression shifted from surprise to something softer, though unreadable in the dim light. Sigrid swallowed hard, her voice hesitant but steady as she stepped closer.

He stared at her, eyebrows arched in disbelief.

"My father plans to kill the horse. I won’t let him."

"A fine animal," Erik said, his tone measured.

"Can he stay here?" Her fingers tightened on the reins.

Erik hesitated, the weight of old grievances lingering. "It’s much to ask, considering your father and me."

Her jaw clenched, but she met his gaze. "I know. But he doesn’t deserve to die."

A long pause. Then, with a faint curve of his lips, Erik nodded. "He can stay."

Relief flickered in her eyes. "Will you care for him?"

"You have my word. But you’ll have to teach me how to handle him."

 "I will," she promised. Her tone sharpened, as she studied him like he was some unfamiliar creature. "Are you a good man?"

Erik paused, the question hanging between them. A faint smile tugged at his lips as he shook his head. "I’d like to think so. Come, let’s find him a place."  

The path to the stable wound through the farmstead perched on a hill. Below, the lake gleamed, its surface rippling under a soft breeze. Silence hung over the land, broken only by the crunch of their steps and the horse’s steady breaths.

At the stable, she opened the door and led the horse inside with quiet care. She chose the farthest stall, its bedding fresh and undisturbed. Her hand brushed his flank as she spoke softly to him, her movements deliberate and calm.

"This will do," she murmured, fastening the latch.

Erik leaned against the doorframe, watching her. "He’ll be content here."

She glanced over her shoulder, determination hardening her features. "I’ll come back tomorrow, after helping my brother. No one will notice I’m gone."

"I’ll be waiting," Erik said, his voice low and steady, a faint smile tugging at his lips.

She was terrified as she made her way down the mountains.

She thought of her brother and all the times he had punished her, while she had quietly endured it and never told their father.

But this time, it was different, because she felt she didn't deserve it.
She had done nothing wrong. They were the ones at fault.

It was dark when she reached the bottom.
She flung the door open with a crash.
Everyone stood in the living room.

"I told you she would come," her mother exclaimed at once.

"Where have you been?" Sigurd thundered across the floor towards her.

"I just needed some time alone!" She snapped back.

"The horse leaves, whether you like it or not!"
Sigurd approached her with a look as if to strangle her, but their father quickly stepped between them.

"Where is the horse, Sigrid?" He demanded.

Thorstein was right behind Sigurd, who ran out to check the yard and then the stable.

"You scared us," her mother stated.
Åsmund remained seated at the table, quietly observing.

The eldest brother and Thorstein stormed back in, their faces clouded with frustration. They exchanged a glance before the eldest spoke, his voice tight with frustration. "The horse is gone, nowhere to be found."

The room erupted in voices, all speaking at once, until a sharp silence fell.

She stood, her back straight, and her voice cut through the chaos like a blade. "Enough!" she said, her tone leaving no room for argument. "I’m going to bed. The horse is gone, and that is all you need to know. Good night."

With that, she turned and strode out of the room, the others left speechless behind her.

But it was not long before a soft knock echoed at the door.

"May I enter?" her father’s voice came, gentle yet firm, as he waited outside.

"Fine!" she replied, lying with her back to him.

He sat down on the edge of the bed, hesitating for a moment before speaking.

"I feel you owe me an apology for the hurtful words you yelled," he said calmly.

"And I think you owe me an apology for making me get rid of my horse."

"You can't just run away when you don't get your way," he said firmly.

"It was unfair!" She shot back.

"I understand that you're upset, and that you're angry with me, but I'm your father. I know what's best for you."

"Okay, then I better listen, papa," Sigrid said with a sarcastic tone. She paused for a moment, her expression hardening before continuing with an edge of anger in her voice.
"Why are you and Erik Gustavson really enemies?"

Her father's face darkened, and his tone turned sharp. "He is not a good man. How do you know about him?"

Still feeling bold, she replied, “Well, I thought he seemed decent enough."

Her father’s voice tightened, and his hand shot out, gripping her arm and forcing her to face him. "Have you met him?"

"No," she lied quickly. "I just overheard people talking about him at the market. And besides, don’t you always say there are two sides to every story?"

"Not this time," he interrupted, his voice commanding and absolute.

"Yes, I understand," Sigrid said with a resigned sigh. "He's very bad. You know best, papa." She waved her hand dismissively. "Now, can you go? I’m tired."

Her father’s demeanor softened.
"As you wish. Goodnight," he said gently, brushing her hair with a tender hand before leaving her.

She didn’t say a word during breakfast, her silence as heavy as the tension in the air. When the meal was over, she slipped away and made her way to the barn.

After she and Åsmund finished their chores, they climbed up into the hayloft. The familiar scent of hay surrounded them as they lay back, letting the warmth of the sunlight streaming through the cracks in the wood ease their tired limbs.

For a while, neither of them spoke, the quiet only broken by the distant sound of birds outside and the rustling of the barn animals below.

"It was truly impressive, how you handled that horse," he said with a smile. "You have a way with animals."

"Thank you, brother," she replied with a playful grin.

"But Sigurd was truly fuming last night when you vanished with that horse," he added, his voice suddenly laced with seriousness.

"I can imagine," she answered, her laughter light but knowing.

"Be careful, Sigrid," he warned. "I don't know what he'll do."

"It'll be fine, dear brother," she said, brushing off his concern with confidence. "Now, go to sleep."

She watched him drift off, and as soon as he was asleep, she slipped out, running up the hill with the quiet speed of someone accustomed to making hasty escapes.

Sigrid scanned the stable, but there was no sign of Erik Gustavson. With a quick glance over her shoulder, she slipped inside, her fingers brushing against the pocket where she had tucked a carrot.

She pulled it out, and the horse’s ears perked as it eagerly nibbled the treat. She stroked its mane gently, feeling the familiar warmth of its body, then opened the stable door.

Suddenly, the sound of footsteps approached from behind. She tensed, expecting it to be Erik, but when she turned, her breath caught in her throat.

“I knew you couldn’t resist me,” came a smooth, almost mocking voice.

There stood Ragnar, blocking her way with a confident grin stretched across his face. He leaned casually against the doorframe, his eyes gleaming with mischief. “Look at that. Nowhere to run this time.”

Sigrid’s lips curled into a sly smile. “The wolf is in the woods. It will come if I call,” she said coolly.

Ragnar took a step closer, his posture shifting to something more threatening. She could see the darkness in his eyes, a glint of malice. “Then perhaps you shouldn’t call,” he whispered, his breath brushing against her ear. “What will you do now?”

She didn’t flinch, instead crossing her arms over her chest, her gaze unwavering. “I wouldn’t recommend coming any closer.”

Ragnar scoffed, his eyes narrowing as he glanced at the horse. “You don’t think a beast like that can stop me, do you?” He sneered, then shot her a look of disdain. “What’s that damned creature doing here again?”

“It’s now Sigrid’s horse,” a voice cut in from behind them. “And it stays here as long as she wishes.”

Sigrid’s heart skipped a beat as Erik Gustavson appeared, his heavy boots making the stable floor creak under his weight. He stepped between her and Ragnar, his face hardening with authority.

"Again?" Sigrid said, her brow furrowing in surprise. "I thought you said it wasn’t yours?"

“It’s not mine, but my nephew’s,” Erik replied, his gaze now fixed on his son.

“I was simply keeping it for him.” He turned back to Ragnar, his voice cold and commanding. “Sigrid is welcome here whenever she likes. Understood?”

Ragnar’s lips twisted into a sly smirk as he glanced at Sigrid, his eyes full of quiet defiance. “Understood,” he muttered, though the glint of trouble never left his gaze.

Erik gave his son a pointed nudge. “Aren’t you supposed to be helping your brother?”

“Yes,” Ragnar replied, still grinning, his eyes never leaving Sigrid’s.
“Then be off, boy!” Erik snapped, his voice rising with authority.

Ragnar’s grin remained as he turned away, but not without one last glance at Sigrid. She watched him leave, feeling the tension in the air finally ease, but the memory of his gaze lingered, like a shadow that wouldn’t quite disappear.

Erik proved to be both skilled and patient with the horse, his steady presence making her feel capable, as though her own knowledge and abilities truly mattered.

The entire summer passed in a blur of gallops and freedom. Each day, Sigrid rode the horse across Erik Gustavson’s land, the wind tugging at her hair as she soared across the open plains. It was a feeling like no other—unrestrained and alive.

Ragnar, however, always seemed to wander from his chores, appearing at the most unexpected times. He’d flash her a teasing smirk or offer a playful word, never missing an opportunity to disrupt her solitude with his presence.

Then, one day, he simply stopped coming.

Sigrid couldn’t deny it—she missed him, though she wasn’t sure why.

Later that afternoon, after working the horse hard, she decided to take it down to the water for a much-needed bath. The cool river would soothe both of them.

She rounded a large rock and froze, her heart skipping a beat.

There, in the sun-dappled clearing by the water, stood Ragnar—his hand entwined with a girl’s. They were laughing, their faces close, their bodies pressed together.

Then, to her shock, Ragnar leaned in and kissed the girl, whose age seemed far older.

Sigrid stood motionless, her breath caught in her throat. Her chest tightened with an unfamiliar, stinging sensation.

Ragnar’s eyes met hers. He didn’t pull away. If anything, his lips curled into the slightest of smirks as he held her gaze, as though daring her to react.

Her face flushed hot with humiliation, a bitter taste rising in her throat. Without a word, she turned sharply, slipping quietly back behind the rock, her heart pounding in her ears.

When she returned the horse to the stable, the youngest of the Gustavson brothers was there.

Leif.

He seemed to be about her age, shy and quiet, with short, thick locks that made him the complete opposite of his older brother. He reminded her of Åsmund. 

"Do you have a name for him yet?" He asked with a warm smile.

"I just named him Fenrir, actually," she said, a bit hesitantly.

"That's a really good name!" He said, beaming.

"Thanks! Is your father here?" She asked, her cheeks still burning.

"No, he's away. Why aren’t you allowed to keep him?" He asked carefully.

"Because my father is a fool who thinks only boys can ride, and girls should sit indoors doing needlework," she said quickly.

"I wish I could sew," he said with a sigh.

"Really?" She asked, surprised.

"Yes. But my brother would never even consider the thought," he replied.

"Neither would mine," she said with a soft laugh, her embarrassment fading slightly. 

Leif hesitated, shifting his weight. "I'm sorry about Ragnar's behavior that day. My friend and I should have stopped him." His voice was low, tinged with guilt. 

"It's alright," she said, her tone genuine. 

"He can be nice," Leif admitted, running a hand through his hair, "but sometimes he feels the need to act tough." He rolled his eyes with a mix of frustration and resignation. 

She grinned. "Yeah, my brother is the same way. It's like they're trying too hard to prove something." 

Leif smirked, but then his expression grew thoughtful. "My father says it’s normal at that age. He claims that’s why Ragnar isn’t allowed to be near you. Apparently, boys that age start paying too much attention to girls." 

Her cheeks burned again, the warmth creeping up her neck. She glanced away, fumbling for a response. Before she could think better of it, the words spilled out. 

"I just saw Ragnar by the water with a girl... they were kissing," she blurted, her voice rising with a mix of embarrassment and disbelief. 

Leif's eyebrows shot up in surprise. "What?" He asked, a faint smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. 

"Yeah. I—I didn’t mean to see it, I just... happened to pass by," she stammered. 

For a moment, Leif looked as though he might laugh, but instead, he shook his head. "That sounds like Ragnar, all right. Forbidden or not, he’ll always find trouble." 

"Do you want me to show you?" She asked, a mischievous grin spreading across her face. 

"Yes!" Leif exclaimed, his eyes lighting up with a mix of curiosity and amusement.

As they neared the water, they heard splashing and squealing. The pair had moved deeper into the woods, far from the shore. 

Leif and Sigrid lay down behind a bush, peeking through the leaves. 

They quickly spotted clothes lying on the ground. Leif and Sigrid glanced at each other and giggled. 

"If my father saw this, Ragnar would be in real trouble!" Leif whispered. 

"Should we take their clothes?" Sigrid asked, her eyes glinting mischievously. 

"Yes!" Leif laughed. "Let’s do it!" 

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