Valkyrie of Desire

1. Impossible Family

Freedom burns while chains chafe

Do not whisper a shout

Marks from love, scars of hate

Do not sigh a deep doubt

Time makes a bitter face

Take a breath and be loud

—Hildr Vas Trumurne

Women do not often travel alone, even fit ones with sharp blades and steely eyes. The afternoon sun warms Hildr's side as she hides behind a boulder. Voices echo from the road ahead, angry shouts and giggling. Her heart thumps, and she clutches her stomach as if her thin arms can protect what grows inside from a world gone mad.

Moss tickles her nose, and she pinches her nostrils to kill a sneeze. Steadying her breath, she scoots around to a bare side of the rock. More shouts and a small boy chases a taller girl through a grassy field.

"Keep it away!" The pig-tailed girl swats at his hand.

The dark-haired boy cackles, holding up his palm. A black spot hops off—a cricket or something like it.

Hildr undoes the rope belt keeping her thick robe snug and pats a dagger's hilt. How brazen to catch insects beside a road through the wild. She squints and drops to her knees, sneaking closer. Monsters may lurk, praying for such succulent food as those two.

From the roadside, an older pair of youths run into the field; a curly-haired maiden who whistles, and a lanky young man who shouts. Allying against the smaller children, they corral them back to the road. Two adults ready a camp there, next to a covered wagon and a team of dusty horses.

Food and drink would be welcome, information even more so. Hildr drums her fingers on the ground. She does not have to be trusting to be trusted. Thievery can remain an option until hospitium.

She pulls out her golden hairpin and shakes loose long orange hair from a tight bun. Hands up, she stands.

The family of six point at her and wave.

No weapons. No shields. They look more like spoiled city dwellers than skull-cracking cannibals, but how can they be so welcoming? The cyclical holy war has degenerated into impious anarchy, making people rival ogres and orcs at being monsters.

Walking slow along the rocky road, she lowers her hands and approaches. Her eyes strain left and right, and her fingers twitch. Ambushes happen when caution thaws.

Mother, father, daughters and sons, they smile easy, share meaningful glances, and giggle at slight provocations; a picturesque family, almost unreal in their story-book perfection. Murder tickles like an almost sexual urge, but Hildr clenches her jaw and breathes slow. They do not mean to tease her with familial joys she never had.

A grunt from their balding father grants permission, and the two youngest grip Hildr's wrists with a carefree casualness. This could be suitable in a city park but not with a stranger in the wild.

With deep breaths, Hildr relaxes her jaw and arms. "Is this really okay?"

"Sure," says the mother. "They're bored with us." She puts on an off-white apron with pink flowers embroidered across it. "I'll call, and you can join us for a meal. Proper introductions can wait until then."

Grinning, the children lead Hildr off-road. Their clothes are dusty and stained, but their cheeks are full and their skin shines. Whatever stupidity their parents may show now, they did raise them healthy. The dark-haired boy breaks away to chase after a grasshopper, and the pig-tailed girl bends and picks up a dandelion.