Freya the Huntress

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A scream shattered the stillness of the night, echoing up the snowy slopes from the little cottage at the bottom of the valley.

Freya rolled her eyes and grinned. “How big a spider do you think Katja just found in the ice cellar?”

Erik smiled and leaned down to kiss her again.

The second scream was longer than the first, a warbling sound that shuddered with terror and pain in the darkness.

Freya sat up so quickly that she nearly smashed Erik in the nose, but her husband was already moving off her, standing up, and pulling on his trousers. As the young man dashed around the fire to fetch his spear, Freya grabbed her long leather coat and wrapped it around herself. “It’s not a spider.” She called up the hillside, “Arfast!”

Why would she scream like that? A bear? A ghost?

Erik was already running down the slope, his boots crunching on the frozen earth and frost-skinned grass, his steel spear flashing in the moonlight. His long legs flew over the dark terrain, but it was a long way back down to the little house beside the steaming lake.

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