Dressed in her trousers and the oversized tunic, Sylvia followed Afi through the streets of the Wolf city. They passed by beautiful houses, low walls, private yards, multiple wells, and enclosures containing chickens and pigs. Sylvia eyed the gorgeous carvings on every door. Some depicted flowers or animals, while others told tales from legends. Everything was meticulously crafted and tended. Not a single dandelion was to be found along the clean cut stone paving.

Sylvia was tense. The city seemed to be lost in time, like it had been created by a single architect, and nature had forgotten it was supposed to encroach. The roads were uncomfortably straight and the houses too square. Even the hedges were too even. At the centre of all this, the watchtower loomed. Red paint had been used to draw the profile of a wolf head onto each side. It was an emblem Sylvia had been taught to fear from a young age. If you see this symbol, you run for your life. Run into the woods and hide in the undergrowth. Do not move. Do not breathe. Now, she was walking toward it, surrounded by Wolves. When they closed in on it, Sylvia could make out patterns of leaves, carved into the stone. Realisation dawned on her. This was not some new Wolf settlement, built precariously close to home. They were in Surtearv.

The Wolves who captured her, had made it all the way around the mountain in a single day. This city marked the border of Fri territory. If you walked across the fields to the north, you would land in the woods of Söderborg, personally patrolled by AudOlafsson’s troops. Surtearv facilitated trade between these regions. Craftsmen of incredible skill lived here, alongside many caravan guards. This was where Sylvia's parents bought their first ox many years ago. This was where the millers sent their excess flour every year, when the Fri came by to transport it.

Sylvia wondered how long Surtearv had been in Wolf hands. Long enough to pick up bodies and clean up after the battle at least. She searched the streets. There was no sign of struggle. Not a leaf was bent out of shape. What in the world had happened here? Somehow, the Wolves had managed to round AudOlafsson’s defences in large enough numbers, not only to take control of a fortified city, but to take it without fire. Sylvia loathed the feeling of awe rising in her, but it was undeniably an impressive achievement. The woven rooftops and moss insulation were highly flammable, and there was nothing as quick and easy as torching a few houses to gain an advantage in a raid. Despite that, not a single building had been damaged.

Sylvia could change that. Starting a fire was simple enough. She had everything she needed in the kitchen, and it was easy to slip out of the window in her room. Maybe this could be her revenge. Even without a knife, she could act against the city’s occupants. The fire was bound to jump between the dry roofs. It would create chaos, and maybe even kill a few Wolves. But where would it leave her? Afi would not protect her if she acted against them. He would not hesitate to hand her over to the next Wolf that came knocking, or skin her his own self. And she knew there was nothing she could do against Afi, not after giving a blood oath. Sighing, she focused on keeping up with Afi instead.

His gait was quick, and his legs long. When he strolled, Sylvia walked. When he walked, she hurried. Especially with the curious eyes of other men following her, she did not want to stray from his side.

It was not long before they reached the market surrounding the watchtower. There were rows of stalls, creating winding streets in the square. At the base of the tower were a few large stalls, overflowing with weaponry and armour. Among them was the pedestal where Sylvia had been sold with the rest of the goods from Nyberg. Sylvia clenched her fists in her pockets. The two coins in her pocket were of little use when she herself was a commodity. Drawing her gaze away from the place of her public humiliation, she focused on the smaller stalls along the edge of the market. They carried everything from plates and cloth, to food and soap. Trading with several vendors, Afi filled the basket he was carrying with apples, potatoes, dried meat, and beans. An older woman, displaying fruits and honey on two modest tables, gave Afi an extra pear for free because “The girl needs to put on some weight”. Sylvia wholeheartedly agreed.

Eager to follow the advice at once, Sylvia found a calm spot at the far end of the market, where the sun peaked through gaps in the awnings. Leaning against the first best wall, she enjoyed the sweet treat. A bird landed nearby, picking at the gap between two paving stones in the hopes of a grain or a bug. Afi helped himself to an apple as well, and for a minute or two, the world was sweet and colourful.

“It is nice here”, Sylvia commented.

Afi nodded, but he did not speak.

Sylvia felt a weight press down on her. Her shoulders fell. Much like the warmth before, what she felt was not her own. She looked to Afi. His expression was as stoic as ever. Focusing on the pear instead, Sylvia soon noticed the sombre mood lift from her soul. While appropriate, she had no use for the gloom. She had finally found a hint of peace. It was a strange thought, that she could enjoy the sun on her face, and the taste of fruit in her mouth, after everything that had happened in the past day or two. Everyone she had ever know was dead, but life simply continued. It was almost cruel.

Once their fruits were consumed, Afi led them further into the huddle of wares and shoppers. He stopped at a wide tent near the tower, where tools mingled with toys and planks. He rummaged in a crate, pulling out various pieces of wood and weighing them in his hands. Behind several large tables, laden with hammers and axes, sat a tall Wolf with a thick and rugged beard.

“Afi. Searching for anything special?”, he asked cheerfully.

“A training sword or similar”, Afi replied.

“Certainly”, the merchant said. He got out of his chair and rounded the tables. Reaching for a vaguely sword-shaped piece of wood, he offered it to Afi and jested, “Back to basics?”

Afi took the toy sword and weighing it his hand. “It will have to do. And a buckler?”

Producing three small wooden shields, the merchant let Afi inspect them. Picking the smallest one, Afi nodded. “How much?”

“For you? Thirty copper”, the merchant smiled.

Afi handed the sword and buckler to Sylvia and reached for his money pouch, without making any attempt to haggle. He did not seem particularly concerned with money in general. Sylvia eyed the leather pouch, weighing it with her gaze. A hefty sum, no doubt, more than she had ever carried on her person.

The merchant looked down at Sylvia in bewilderment. He chuckled deeply and joked, “Do not tell me you are planning to teach that little girl?”

Handing the coin over, Afi snarled, “And what if I am?”

“Her? She is skin and bone. She will break something”, the merchant laughed.

A shopper standing close enough to overhear laughed as well. Looking around, Sylvia noticed that they had several pairs of eyes on them, all amused by the picture, by little Sylvia holding toy sword and shield. She clenched her fingers around the wooden pieces and straightened her back. An anger which was not quite her own crept into her chest.

“She will grow”, Afi declared.

“Hardly”, the merchant laughed. He took a hold of Sylvia’s slender wrist to demonstrate.

Fear shook Sylvia. She ducked her head before she knew why. Afi’s fist swung past her, and hit the merchant square in the face. He fell onto his back and clutched his nose, spiting curses.

Afi cracked his knuckles. “Touch my girl again and I will snap your neck.” He looked around sharply, and their audience of surprised bystanders disappeared in an instant.

“You are f…”, the merchant began, but he bit his tongue.

“I am what?”, Afi challenged.

The merchant held up a hand defensively. “Nothing. I apologise.”

Afi turned on his heel and marched away. Sylvia hurried after him at once. She was not willing to find out what revenge looked like among Wolves. Surely the merchant was not going to forget about this incident.

Afi strode all the way back to the house in a brisk pace. Sylvia struggled to keep up, carrying their wares, but she made no complaint. Truthfully, she was relieved to be back indoors, the lock turned and the keys stowed away in Afi’s pocket. What a strange thought. Sylvia frowned at herself. Did she really feel safer, locked in with this Wolf? She concluded that it was a matter of degrees rather than one of trust. Better one Wolf than an entire pack.

“Alright?”, Afi wondered.

Sylvia merely nodded. She was aware of her own breathing, heavy and rushed after the quick march back trough the city. Her heart was beating hard in her chest, but she was not hurt. Without looking up, she proceeded into the kitchen and set the purchases down on the table.

“Sorry. That must have been scary”, Afi said.

Sylvia saw the grim intensity fade from his face again. “No, not really”, she said. “You do not…you did not feel that?”

“Feel what?”, Afi asked.

“Nothing. Never mind.”

Afi frowned. He took Sylvia’s wrist and inspected her skin, turning her arm this way and that. There were no visible injuries. His eyes met Sylvia’s and she could see, or perhaps feel, that he was sad. He was so desperately sad. Her soul felt heavy in her chest.

“People seem scared of you”, she whispered.

Afi sighed audibly. “Not of me. Of Björn. He is my brother in law.”

“Oh, I see. You are family.” Sylvia said in understanding.

“Something like that”, Afi mumbled.

He noticed that he was still holding onto Sylvia, and let go. Looking down at his right shoe, he pressed his heel into the line between two floor boards. “Are you? Scared of me?”, he wondered.

Sylvia thought for a moment, but then shook her head. “No. Not any more.”

“Why not?”, Afi asked.

Sylvia shrugged. Truth was, she could sense him. She could feel the way he looked at her, not just on the surface, but all the way down in her soul. There was no malice in his intense eyes. There was warmth. What truly put her at ease around him, is that she knew now; he was at least as scared as her. If only she could figure out why.