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small success. They set snares for rabbits and brought home a steady supply. Somerled had a neat hand for gutting and skinning.
    Eyvind was uneasy sometimes. He could see Somerled was trying hard, and it was plain to all that the lad was growing stronger and healthier, thanks to fresh air and exercise and good feeding. But he remained very quiet, and had not lost his habit of blurting out strange remarks. Once, by the fire, they had listened to Ingi’s tale of three brothers going to seek their fortunes, and had spoken of what the future might hold for themselves, and what they aspired to. One lad was eager to be a craftsman; he hoped to persuade Bjarni the silversmith to take him on. Another wanted to voyage far away to the lands in the south, where all the folk had skin as black asnight. A third dreamed of catching the biggest fish that ever slipped in through the skerry-guard.
    â€œNo need to ask Eyvind what he’s going to do,” grinned redheaded Sigurd, son of Ingi’s senior housecarl. “We all know that.”
    â€œIf Thor accepts me, I’ll be the bravest Wolfskin that ever gave service,” Eyvind said quietly, his gaze intent on the hearth fire. “First in attack, heedless of peril, fierce and unassailable. That’s the only thing I want to do.”
    There was a little silence. Not one of them doubted that this wish would come true. It seemed to have been understood among them since Eyvind was little more than a baby.
    â€œI’m going to marry Ragna and have ten children,” Sigurd joked, and pigtailed Ragna cuffed him, blushing scarlet.
    â€œWhat about you, Somerled?” Ingi asked kindly, perhaps feeling their young visitor had been overlooked. “What do you think you will become, when you are a man?”
    Somerled looked up at her, his dark eyes opaque. “A king,” he said.
    There were snorts of ridicule. The boys rolled their eyes at one another; the girls giggled with embarrassment.
    â€œI don’t think you can just be a king,” Eyvind said gently. “I mean, a king is even more important than a Jarl. You’d have to be…well…” He hesitated. It was not possible to say, You’d have to be strong, brave, respected —all the things Somerled was not.
    â€œYou doubt me?” Somerled snapped. His small face all at once had the appearance of a savage creature at bay, the nostrils pinched, the eyes furious.
    â€œOh, come on, Somerled,” said Sigurd. “You know you’ll never be a king, that sort of thing’s only in stories. It’s a stupid thing to say.”
    Ingi opened her mouth, perhaps to announce that it was bedtime, but Somerled spoke first.
    â€œA man can be anything he wants to be,” he said, fixing Sigurd with a withering look. “You have still that lesson to learn. But you will not learn it, because you set your sights too low. One day you’ll be a bitter old man, looking back on a life wasted. Worse, you won’t even have the wit to recognize what you might have been. One day I will be a king, and you will still be a housecarl.”
    Sigurd muttered something and made a gesture with his fingers. Then Ingi ordered them briskly off to bed, and the strange conversation was over.
    Lying awake, Eyvind stared up at the thatch, where small creatures stirred with furtive rustling movements. After a while he said, “I didn’tmean it to sound like that. As if I thought you were lying. That wasn’t what I meant. I was just trying to be…”
    â€œHelpful?” put in Somerled.
    â€œWell, yes. I thought maybe you didn’t understand how hard it would be to—to do what you said. Almost impossible, I should think.”
    Somerled sat up, his blankets held around him. “Nothing is impossible, Eyvind,” he said in his small, precise voice. “Not if a man wants it enough. How badly do you wish to be a Wolfskin?”
    â€œMore than anything in