1 Chapter 1: Berries, Boars, and a Boy

Sweet sticky juice stained Sigyn's fingertips a deep red as she pulled the berries free from the bush and dropped them into her satchel. The back of her neck and arms were hot from the late summer sun's attention overhead but the slight afternoon breeze from the West was more than welcome. The stained bag was almost three-quarters full and she bent a branch forward to reach a cluster of ripe berries near the top. The berries had come early this year. Typically berries on Berk were not ready to harvest for another four weeks. Thank goodness she had checked on them today. Another week and the squirrels, birds, and wild boars would have picked these bushes clean. As it was, she had still had to scare off a few birds and squirrels.

Most of the boars on Berk had been rounded up by the Dragon Riders, Hiccup and his friends, but there were still some that eluded the group. The wild boars could be quite dangerous and while it was true that Burkians enjoyed wrestling them in the boar pits, that was typically only attempted one on one. In the wild, the oversized swine traveled in droves of anywhere from ten to thirty. They had sharp tusks, a nasty attitude, and would eat almost anything, including any available meat. They had even been known to go after an injured dragon if given the chance.

Sigyn's fingers slipped on the branch and it whipped back up, slapping her across the face, leaving red smears of berry juice on her heavily freckled cheeks. She swore softly dropping her bag to rub at her eye. Following the burbling sounds, she moved towards the slow-moving stream nearby. She squatted to examine her reflection, pulling her eyelid down. Her blond hair came free from its loose tie and fell in curtains around her face obscuring her view. Huffing, she gathered it up and stuffed it down the back of her brown tunic before bending over the water once again. She would live. The white of her eyes was a bit red from the rubbing but the brown iris was intact. Dipping her hand into the icy water she pressed it to her eyelid and sighed in relief.

A snuffling squeaking sound off to her right caught her attention and Sigyn froze. Moving slowly she let her hands drop and turned to look. It was a boar, a piglet, probably born earlier this summer. She stood, moving away quietly. It was definitely time to leave. Where there were piglets there was also a grumpy sow. She slipped silently back to the berry bush to retrieve her satchel. Unfortunately, it had already been found. She estimated there were about 15 adults and as many piglets. She winced as two of the largest boars fought over her satchel, tearing it and scattering the berries in the dirt. So much for berry picking. She backed away slowly. If she could get around them undetected she would have a straight shot for home. So intent was she on watching the adults that she failed to notice the piglet snuffling the ground behind her. She went down on her rear with a crash sending the squealing piglet dashing toward the others.

The adults raised their heads and Sigyn's heart skipped a beat. The piglet scampered under the largest of the sows. It was silent for only a moment before the peace was shattered by a shrill squeal and the drove charged forward. Sigyn scrambled to her feet and dashed between the berry bushes, running for the tall evergreen trees at the edge of the clearing. The boars were close behind and gaining but she only had a couple hundred more steps to go. She scanned the trees looking for a thick low-lying branch. Spying one, she put on a burst of speed, and just as she reached the tree lept high into the air, catching the branch. With a grunt, she pulled herself out of the reach of the boars as they snuffled angrily around the trunk of the tree.

Great, treed and her only weapon was her skinning dagger. The boars squealed angrily below her feet. The largest of the males had managed to get her satchel up over his head, the bag hanging limply around his neck like a bizarre necklace. Well, the only thing to do was wait them out. She cursed. Who knew how long that would take. She climbed higher, grimacing as her hands found rivulets of thick sap. Finally, she reached the spot where the thick green needles gave way. She peered out over the berry meadow. A little over two miles away was the village, the dragons flying over it, and just this side of the village tucked into the trees she knew was her house.

She could still hear the boar's angry snorts below. Just how long would she have to wait up here? She had heard stories of people stuck in trees for days. She had told her father where she was going and to expect her back by sundown, but it wasn't like he could come after her. The Ingerman's were their closest neighbors and Mrs. Ingerman usually checked in on them every other day or so, but she had already visited earlier in the day. Thankfully Sigyn had seen to her father's needs before she left so he was not in immediate need and she had eaten a fair amount of berries. She would just have to tough it out until someone came to visit her father and was alerted to her absence or the boars got bored and left. Either way, she would likely be here a while. At least she'd found a sturdy branch to sit on with another jutting out just above that she could rest her arms on.

The hours passed slowly into evening and the boars showed no sign of moving. Some would trot over to the berry bush but there were always at least five or six that remained behind, clustered around the trunk of the tree. She climbed down hoping to slip away unnoticed, but the large sow spotted her and kicked up a fuss drawing the others back to the tree. So it would be overnight then. Climbing back up to her previous perch she loosened her belt and wrapped it around herself and the branch she sat on. Leaning forward over the upper branch she rested her head on her arms and waited for the sun to set trying not to worry about her father.

Sleeping in a tree was far from comfortable and she woke several times during the night. Unable to see the ground she dropped large pine cones to the ground but hearing the squeals and grunts from below was enough to let her know she was still under guard. Sighing she leaned forward once again and tried her best to slip back into a fitful slumber.

The sun shone through her eyelids staining her vision red. She grumbled turning her face away from the oddly warm breeze ghosting over her cheeks trying to go back to sleep.

"Look at that Fangster. Not every day you see that."

What was that irritating noise? She wished it would just go away. She had finally found a manageable position and she wanted to sleep.

"Hey, babe! What are you doing there?"

Go away. It was too early for talking.

"Is she even alive?"

Something rough and warm bumped her cheek. She pushed it away, grumbling.

"Rise and shine gorgeous!" called a voice.

The warm something bumped her again and grumbling Sigyn opened her eyes…opened her eyes to a pair of large yellow eyes. She jolted backward screaming and kicking. A dragon! Those were dragon eyes. The monstrous nightmare jerked back from her frantic kicks and only after something fell shrieking to the ground did she realize that the dragon had a ridder. Squeals and grunts erupted from below interspersed with shrieks and shouts of anger.

"Hookfang! Get down here! Odin I hate boars. Hookfang!"

The dragon beat its wings pulling back before dropping to the ground and scattering the drove of boars in every direction. Sigyn fumbled with her belt, finally unlatching it before she climbed lower. She could see him as she swung down to a lower branch. A boy, short and thickly built. His dark hair was swept back from his face and stuck out over the collar of his brown leather vest and down in front of his ears. Cursing under his breath he stooped to retrieve his helmet from under a bush and set it back on his head. That horned helmet was familiar.

"Hookfang! Get back here right now!" yelled the boy, limping toward the trunk of the tree. Off in the meadow, the dragon ignored him, busily chasing the boars. She watched the dragon warily and when it disappeared into the trees on the other side of the meadow she dropped down to the ground. Her legs gave out underneath her and she sank into the long grass.

"Stupid dragon," mumbled the boy. He turned to face her, his blue eyes surveying her.

She recognized him now. He was one of the Dragon Riders. Not only a Dragon Rider but a Dragon Racer. She racked her brain trying to remember his name but came up blank. She knew Fishlegs, not well, but they were neighbors, and of course, the whole village knew Hiccup and Astrid, but she was unsure about the twins or this boy.

"Who are you?" he demanded. She stretched her legs out in front of her, trying to regain feeling in her toes.

"Sigyn," she said, not looking up as she rubbed her calves. "Sigyn Helvig."

"What's wrong with your legs?"

"Been sitting in a tree all night," she replied, looking up at him. "What about your leg? Did the boars do that?" He looked down at his torn pants where his shin was sliced open and bleeding.

"Oh...yeah, it was totally that big one with the sac around its neck. But I sent it running for the hills. Punched it right in the mouth."

"And your monstrous nightmare had nothing to do with that?" He scowled.

"I had them on the run before Hookfang showed up," he said, jabbing a thumb in his chest. She's scanned the meadow. Still no dragon. Good. The boy sank to the ground to sit with his back against the tree. "At least now I know why you were in the tree. How long were you up there anyway?"

"Since yesterday afternoon."

"What were you doing out here alone? Where is your dragon?"

"I was picking those berries," she said, pointing to the bushes still laden with red fruit. She stiffened when the Monstrous Nightmare reappeared bounding across the meadow headed straight for them. He was large for his species, a deep red with dark orange, brown, and black spots.

"Why didn't your family or your dragon come to find you?" pressed the boy. She scrambled to her feet moving to stand just behind the tree line.

"I don't have a dragon," she said, edging further back as the dragon got closer. "It's just my dad at home, and he's not exactly mobile."

"Don't have a dragon!" blurted the boy. "How could you not have a dragon? Nearly everyone has one now, even if they don't ride them." He watched her skeptically as she shifted to stand behind the more sheltered side of the tree away from the approaching dragon at his side. "You're not some sort of dragon hater are you?" he asked, his eyes narrowing as he reached to pat the dragon under the chin.

"No, I don't hate them," she said, keeping careful watch on the dragon's wings and tail.

"Then what's wrong with you? Dragons are awesome. Especially Hookfang. He's the biggest on the island." She could well believe him.

"It's their size that worries me."

"What, do you think they're going to eat you?" he scoffed. The dragon nudged him, sending him sprawling into the grass. "Hey! Hookfang!"

The dragon nosed toward her sniffing and she withdrew a few steps further behind the trees, trying to stay out of its reach. The dragon's tail swung back and forth in agitation as it pressed closer. She ducked when its wing brushed the branches above sending a shower of pine needles raining down on her.

"I don't trust that they're conscious of their size," she said, brushing pine needles from her hair. The dragon pressed forward still trying to smell her, making the trees crack and groan as it tried to squeeze between them. "Hey, will you call him off please!" she called to the boy, trying and failing to keep the panic from her tone.

"Hn? Oh, yeah." He clambered to his feet. "Hookfang, back up will you. Give the lady some room to breathe." The dragon didn't budge. The boy tugged on the large horns protruding from his head. "I said back up!" The trees complained as the dragon continued to press against them, straining to get closer to her.

"Hookfang? Stop." The dragon ignored him, its nose now a few feet from her. "Alright, you asked for this." The boy came around to stand in front of the dragon. He gripped the dragon's horns and yanked its head to the side, pinning it to the ground. The dragon immediately went limp collapsing to the ground, a loud growling purr like a hive of bees coming from its chest. Its eyes were nearly closed.

"Did you just break your dragon?" she asked, confused and a bit surprised by the boy's strength.

"Naw, he likes when I do that." He rubbed a hand between the dragon's large eyes. The smaller of the two trees the dragon had been trying to squeeze between cracked and fell with a deafening crash. She jumped out of the way as a stray branch brushed past her.

"And that," she said, pointing to the fallen tree. "Is why I don't trust dragons. They don't control their strength well."

"Who needs to control it when you can just use it," said the boy, flexing his bicep and kissing it.

"I prefer not to have trees dropped on me." He shrugged. "What was your name anyway?" she asked. He wilted a bit.

"You don't know my name?"

"Nope. I know you're a Dragon Rider and Racer but I can't say I know your name."

"You like to watch the races?" he asked, perking up. "Did you see the last one? I totally kicked butt!"

"I don't really like the races," she admitted.

"Geez, what's wrong with you anyway? Everyone likes the races."

"Everyone except me I know," she said impatiently. "But what's your name?" He straightened and looked her up and down.

"I see, you want to know the name of your hero," he said, sauntering over to her with a slight limp. "Snotlout. Snotlout Jorgenson."

"Ah! Your dad is Spitelout, brother of Chief Stoic, which makes you and Hiccup...?"

"Cousins, yeah," he said unenthusiastically, folding his arms over his chest again. "What about it?"

"Nothing, just making the connection. Do you have any water?"

He walked around the dragon's head to the saddle and opened a pocket before tossing her a water skin. She took a long drink.

"Thanks," she said, tossing it back.

"It's just water," he said, wrinkling his nose.

"No, I mean thanks for getting rid of the boars."

"I was pretty impressive, wasn't I?" he fished. The dragon was beginning to stir and she backed further away. It growled and flicked its tail smacking Snotlout in the back making him stumble forward. "Alright, alright. We... We were both impressive." The dragon rumbled satisfied.

"Very impressive," she said, not quite able to keep the smirk off her lips. "I should get back." She started to edge around the dragon, giving it a wide berth.

"Hey! Where are you going?"

"I didn't go home last night. My dad will be worried."

"Oh, right, right. Sure, I get it." He stumbled toward the dragon grimacing when he put weight on his injured leg.

She paused.

"Hey are you going to be okay?" she asked, watching him. "How bad is your leg?"

"It's nothing," he said, trying to climb into the dragon's saddle. The dragon lifted its head making it impossible for him to reach. "Knock it off Hookfang."

"Maybe you should let me look at it," she said. His pant leg was stained red and growing redder.

"No. I'm fine. Hookfang, get down here!" The dragon rumbled, lowering its head enough to shove Snotlout toward her. "Hey!"

"I think your dragon disagrees."

"Stupid Dragon," he muttered. The dragon whacked him gently with its tail. "What!" he said, brushing away the dragon with a wave. "I'm fine!"

"Let me at least look at it," she insisted. "Animal bites are more serious than regular cuts. They are more prone to infection."

"But it's not…" but he paused. He watched her for a moment before finally relenting. "Alright, but only because my dragon's being an idiot." He sat on the trunk of the toppled tree. She didn't move. "What are you waiting for?"

"Your dragon... Could you get him to back up a bit?"

"Gezz, you really are scared of them aren't you?" But he motioned for Hookfang to back up and for once the dragon did as told. She crouched in front of him and peeled back the ripped fabric.

"How bad is it?" he asked, his eyes closed.

"Well, your shin is pretty messed up. I don't think there will be permanent damage other than a scar, but you definitely need stitches."

"Stitches! That's ridiculous. Stitches are for weaklings. Besides the old bag, Gothi, doesn't like me. She's always whacking me with that stick of hers."

"Oh sorry, I was wrong," she said. "The leg will have to be amputated completely."

"What! No! I'm not gonna be some Hiccup wannabe."

"Relax," she said, tugging off her armband and unwinding it. "I was kidding. But seriously if you don't get it stitched it won't heal. The skin won't pull back together on its own." She tied the makeshift bandage around his leg tightly. He grumbled something under his breath.

"What?"

"Nothing," he snapped. It was quiet for a moment.

"Look," she said, getting to her feet. "If you don't want to see Gothi I can stitch it up for you."

"Are you a healer?" he asked.

"No," she admitted. "But I am one of the village tailors and I've stitched up my fair share of cuts."

"You're a tailor?" She nodded.

"In fact, I'm pretty sure the pants you're wearing are ones that I made. I can even fix them up if you want." He glanced down at them thinking.

"You could really stitch this up?"

"Sure. It's stitches, not childbirth." Hookfang grumbled lowly making her jump as his head brushed past to nuzzle Snotlout's leg. She backed away hastily.

"Shove off, you big lizard," grumbled Snotlout, pushing Hookfang away. He looked up at her. "Alright. Do your worst. But you can't tell anyone!"

He stood and this time Hookfang allowed him to climb into the saddle. Snotlout turned to her, holding a hand out for her.

"I'll walk thanks," she said, edging away.

"But that will take forever!"

"You're not going to bleed out are you?"

"Of course not," he said, crossing his arms over his chest. "I'm a Jorgenson."

"Then what's the big deal?"

"Fine," he said. "We'll walk. How far is it anyway?"

"West side of the village, tucked inside the tree line," she said. "We can be there in about half an hour."

"Alright, but if I bleed out it's on your head."

"I'll risk it," she said glibly. "You're riding a dragon, and besides, I thought you were a Jorgenson."

Half an hour later her house became visible, its domed roof peeking out between the treetops. She turned to look up at Snotlout who had been mostly silent on the walk back.

"Um...the dragon stays here," she said. He raised an eyebrow at her watching her with his icy gaze. She remained silent. Unmoving.

"Fine," he relented. He tapped the dragon's nose and it lowered its head to let him off. Sigyn watched, stepping well out of reach of the dragon's wings or tail. "Go on Hooky. I'll find you later," he said, shooing the dragon with a wave.

Hookfang turned his attention to Sigyn, moving closer. She froze, hardly breathing as the large dragon nosed closer, bumping her elbow with a soft growl.

"Hey, leave her be." Snotlout shoved the dragon's head aside. "I saw her first," he said, flashing her a cocky grin. Grunting the dragon turned to go. Its wings kicked up dirt and leaves, its tail tapping the back of Snotlout's helmet one last time before it disappeared over the treetops.

"Alright, dragons gone. Now what?" asked Snotlout, righting his helmet. Sigyn blew out a breath, her body relaxing. He watched her with skepticism. "How do you even live on Berk if you don't like dragons?" She looked at him smiling weakly.

"That's why we live here and not closer to the village. The dragons don't usually come this far except to fly over." They were silent for a moment. "Anyway, come on. Let's look at your leg properly."

She led him past the fenced garden, shooing the chickens and spilling out some feed for them. Grabbing a bucket she scooped some water from the small stream that ran behind the house and directed Snotlout towards the front. The door squeaked open kicking up dust from the floor, making it spin wildly in the sunbeams slanting through the open window.

"Sigyn?" called a husky voice from the back room. "Sigyn? Is that you?"

"It's me, Dad. Just a second." She turned to Snotlout. "Sit here," she said, moving a basket of thread and a stack of thick cloth from one of the chairs by the table. He sat. She kicked the dying embers in the hearth back to life and added a few more logs before setting the water over the flames to heat. Snatching a loaf of bread, a jug of water, and a hunk of yak cheese she proceeded to the back room.

"Sigyn! Thank the gods. I worried for you. Where have you been?"

"I got treed by some boars. Sorry I didn't make it home last night."

She set the food and water on the small table beside the bed before turning to face him. His hair was mused with sleep, the dark color peppered with grey to match the beard that obscured his once broad jaw now carved with premature lines of age. She plucked the blanket off the floor and tucked it back around his withered legs. He held out a hand for her, his brown eyes staring blankly ahead. She took it, squeezing gently.

"You spent the night in a tree?" She bent to place a kiss on his leathered cheek.

"I did, and I don't recommend it."

"How did you get back? And who's with you?" She squeezed his hand again smiling.

"I should have known I couldn't trick your ears. It's Snotlout."

"Snotlout? That Jorgenson boy? The one who looks like a troll?" She laughed.

"Dad, that was four years ago, and most kids that age look like trolls."

"You didn't," he said. She smiled.

"You only say that because you have to."

"It's true," he defended.

"Alright, alright," she relented. "You win. Here eat this. I have to go stitch up Snotlout."

"Stitch him up? What, did he split his britches?" She handed him the bread and cheese.

"No. He got in a fight with a boar, or so the story goes."

"I see. Well, don't let me keep you then."

"Eat up," she urged, patting his hand and turning to snatch the basket off the shelf on the wall. "I'll come back and check on you once I'm done and have seen to the yaks."

Coming back into the main room she found Snotlout wandering about, running his fingers over the assortment of cloth and furs strewn over most of the available surfaces in the little room, including some of the stairs leading up to her bedroom. The table was littered with scraps of cloth, thread in an assortment of colors, and a healthy collection of needles, buttons, and claps. The broom leaned forgotten in the corner, buried under good intention and creativity.

"I guess you weren't kidding when you said you were a tailor," he said, dropping several dragon scale buttons back onto the table.

"Nope," she said, shoving the organized clutter aside and placing the basket on the table. She moved the beginnings of a green dragon scale vest off the remaining chair before retrieving a few strips of clean cloth and the water from the fireplace. "It's a useful job that I can do outside of the village while still being close to my father. Sit," she said gesturing to the empty chair beside her. He plodded over and sank into the chair, watching as she pulled various bottles and jars from the basket.

"What happened to him? Your father I mean." Sigyn froze a moment before setting a green bottle down.

"An accident a little over four years ago left him numb from the waist down and mostly blind. Put your leg up here," she said, patting her thigh and turning her chair perpendicular to his. He began to unlace his boot. "No," she said, stopping him. "I think I prefer you keep your boot on." He let out a sigh and lifted his leg resting it across her lap.

She pulled his pant leg up and untied her armband from around his leg. The cut was roughly four inches long but luckily it had missed the muscle only splitting the skin. Soaking a cloth in the hot water she began to clean the wound.

"Are you sure a boar did this?" she asked, smirking.

"Of course," he said, defensively.

"If you're sure," she said. He looked at her apprehensively.

"Why?"

"Well," she said, gently tugging a splinter of wood from one end of the gash. "Generally, boar's tusks are made of bone and not bits of tree." She held the splinter up where he could see it. His jaw snapped shut and he looked away from her crossing his arms over his chest. She couldn't help but laugh.

"Go on, laugh, everyone else will," he said, trying to pull his leg away. She caught his ankle and held him.

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to make you mad."

"I'm not," he said angrily. "Besides, why should you care? Hiccup and the others would have laughed. I got bested by a tree."

"That's not what I was laughing about," she said.

"Then what?"

"It... It was your expression when you realized I'd caught you in a lie." He frowned and then looked away.

"Alright, so I lied. The tree caught my leg on the way down. It's no big deal."

"It's not," she agreed. "So why lie?" He fell silent and she returned to cleaning the wound.

"I really did punch a boar," he said. "The big one with the bag around its neck. Punched him right in the mouth."

"I believe you," she said, reaching for a fresh cloth and the smallest of the jars.

"Why do you believe me this time?" he asked. She dabbed some of the jar's contents on the cloth and grabbed his hand, which was resting on the table.

"Your knuckles. Unless you go around punching trees, you must have knocked that boar for a loop." She swept the cloth over his split knuckles. He hissed and jerked his hand back.

"What is that stuff?"

"Just something to aid healing. I should have warned you. It stings."

"It doesn't sting," he said defiantly. "Jorgensons don't feel pain." She reapplied the liquid to the cloth and moved to his leg.

"I suppose there's no need to tell you to brace yourself then." She pressed the cloth to his leg but with forewarning, he managed not to jerk away only letting out a low grunt of discomfort escape his lips. She reached for another bottle and pried its stopper free.

"What's that?" he asked, eyeing the bottle apprehensively.

"It's a jell that will numb your skin for a while so I can stitch you up." She paused her fingers poised over his cut. "That is unless you think it would be pointless since you're Jorgenson and all." He huffed, folding his arms and looking away from her.

"Do what you want." She applied the jell.

Wiping her hands clean she retrieved a needle and thread. She worked in silence for several minutes, bent over his leg, concentrating on making the stitches small and neat.

"Where did you learn to do that?" She looked up to see him leaning forward to examine her work. She sat back so he could see.

"Gothi, I have been to visit her a lot in the past four years. But really with how violent our lives are you would think more of us would have some basic healing skills."

"No. How do you do that stitch?" he clarified. "I've never seen one like that before."

"Planning on needing more stitches sometime soon?"

"No," he said, looking away. She bent over his leg again. It was a good minute before he spoke. "It would just be nice to not have to go see Gothi as much."

"Want me to teach you?" she asked. He didn't say anything but nodded it as he glared out the window.

"It's a healer's stitch. You start on one side like this." Patiently she demonstrated the stitch.

"Again," he said, watching her carefully. She showed him three more times.

"Want to give it a shot?" she asked, holding out the needle. Hesitantly he took it.

"Like this?" he asked after a moment.

"Yep, just keep the stitches small. Try a few more." He did two more.

"Here," he said, heading her back the needle and sitting back in the chair. "Your's are better."

"Well I am a tailor, so that's only to be expected." She pointed to a puffy scar on her left arm near the shoulder. "I had to learn to." He grunted.

"How did you get that?" he asked after a moment.

"Training," she said. He sat up straighter, interested.

"What weapon?"

"I used to be pretty good with the sword and I'm still a decent shot with a bow."

"Don't you practice anymore?"

"I don't have a lot of time anymore." He frowned. It was a few minutes before he spoke again.

"Why haven't I seen you before?"

"Well," she said, pulling the final stitch closed. "For obvious reasons, I tend to avoid the village when I can."

"Dragons?" he asked. She nodded, snipping the string.

"What season were you born?" she asked, reaching for a jar full of red paste.

"Spring," he said. "Why?"

"How old will you be then?"

"18."

"Then that's another reason. I'm almost a year-and-a-half older than you."

"No way. You're 18?"

"19 in a few months. Hold still I'm almost done." She smeared the red paste over the cut and reached for a clean strip of cloth. He tried to pull away once the bandage was in place but she stopped him.

"Hold on," she said, catching his pant leg. "This will only take a minute." In a moment she had rethreaded her needle and had soon repaired the tear in his pant leg.

"There, good as new. After a wash anyway. You should be all set." He tugged his pant leg down and tucked it back into his boot. "Just try not to get the cut wet for three days. You'll have to pull the stitches out yourself."

"I can do that," he said, getting to his feet.

"All right then. If for some reason it gets infected you'll have to go see Gothi. That's beyond me." He turned to go and she watched him from the doorway. Just as he was about out of the yard, she called after him.

"Hey, Snotlout." He paused and turned to look at her. "Thanks."

"For what?" he asked, confused.

"For getting me out of that tree. I could have been there for a few days before anyone other than my father even noticed." He turned fully to face her, crossing his arms over his chest.

"You should carry a weapon with you, especially if you don't have a dragon," he said. "And not just that dagger on your hip."

"I'll do that," she said.

"You won't tell anyone about the tree will you?"

"I won't tell if it bothers you."

"I never said it bothered me," he said, looking away.

"I won't tell anyone. And if anyone asks about your leg you could just say that you rescued a maiden trapped in a tree by boars." He thought for a moment.

"I suppose that would work," he said, tipping his helmet further back on his head. "But it has to be a fair maiden."

"Oh?"

"Of course," he said grinning. "Only a fair maiden is worth my time." She laughed.

"I suppose you're right."

"See you around Sigyn," he called, waving as he disappeared down the path toward the village.

Two mornings later after she had milked the yaks and was on her way to collect the eggs, something out of place caught her eye. Hanging on a limb of the tree next to the barn was her satchel. She set the buckets of milk aside and lifted the bag down. It was heavy. Flipping the top open she was surprised to find it was filled to the brim with fresh berries. She frowned, sure the bag had been ripped by the boars. She lifted it higher and laughed. The bottom of the bag had been stitched closed with several dozen healer's stitches.