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those foul, violent, cruel men. And from Per.
     
    The snow is deep but I press on, higher and farther, and the steading grows small behind me. When I finally stop, I am standing under the glacier. It rises up white and blue, as if it has frozen some of the sky within it, and from somewhere deep inside, it groans. Water runs out over the rocks underneath, and I stoop to drink from the stream. It is so cold it hurts my teeth, and then I splash some on my face to wash away the tears.
     
    I sit down. I don’t want to cry anymore, so I keep my thoughts away from Hilda and listen to the ice. It speaks to me of scouring winds, of cloudless nights, of endless cold. It measures its loneliness by the weight of its layers, the years and years of snow falling unobserved. I’ve been told its lament is loudest at the beginning of winter and the coming of summer, as if it knows that is the closest it will ever come to warmth and thaw. As if it yearns for its own demise. But it can and will only be what it is, bleak and alone, until the breaking of the world.
     

 
    In the depth of winter, when the frost giants gathered and the storms raged outside the hall, Father’s men sat drinking. The ale and mead flowed freely, and stronger than usual. More than one fight had broken out, and had threatened to mount into brawls if not for the control Father exerted over them.
     
    I had fallen asleep outside my bedcloset, on a bench among them, unnoticed.
     
    When a loud curse woke me, I startled from the bench and fell to the ground. All the men around me saw it, and they stifled their laughter. My cheeks flushed red as I knelt there, embarrassed and scared. I didn’t want to get up.
     
    But then you were beside me, Per. You bent and offered me your hand.
     
    “There, there,” you said. “Nothing to be afraid of.”
     
    You smiled at me, but not like the others did. There was no mockery in your eyes. And I let you help me to my feet.
     
    “Are you all right?” you asked.
     
    I could only nod.
     
    “Good,” you said, and then you turned your face away from me, toward the mealfire, and called to Bera.
     
    Bera, then you came and brushed the straw from my woolen skirt, and picked it from my hair. “Why aren’t you in bed?” you asked. “Let’s get you to sleep, eh? Asa is already there.”
     
    “Good night, Solveig,” I heard you say, Per, as Bera led me away.
     
    “Good night,” I said, so grateful to you.
     
     

THE CAVE
     
    I remember that Ole spoke of a cave up here, near the base of the glacier. A place of safety where we could hide. I need a place of safety right now, so I begin to search for it. It must be a secret cave, or else it wouldn’t make a very secure place of hiding. I scramble up the sides of the ravine, looking under outcroppings and studying the rocky ledges. And then I feel a warmth on the breeze and smell the tang of sulfur. I turn to find its source and see a billow of steam rising from the stones, the breath of the earth, or perhaps of a dragon sleeping deep underground. The steam marks an opening in the troll mountains. The cave.
     
    I cross over and pause at the mouth before climbing through, imagining sharp fangs and glowing, serpent eyeswaiting for me. I inhale some clean air and then enter, my shadow sliding ahead of me. Once inside, I wait a moment for my eyes to adjust. I am in an empty room with rough walls. A few empty sacks are piled in one corner, and there is an unlit torch close at hand. The air is warm, like a hall with a full fire in the long pit and cauldrons steaming over the hearth. The smell is unpleasant, but bearable.
     
    Farther in, the walls narrow and fall into the mouth of a shadow, then down the mountain’s dark gullet. I could light the torch with the flint I carry at my brooch, but I have no desire to go any farther. I am no Sigurd, and I have no Gram. And with the warmth in here, I need no fire.
     
    I sit down against one of the walls and lean my head back. I