ge mig frid

The woman dappled with the colors of nebulas walks toward the huge shadow, emotions warring over her features as she goes. For so long, Tove had imagined this moment, even rehearsed what she would do when she saw him. Her words would cut into the tall shadow like the claws of the bears that had taken Bodin from her; each phrase carefully chosen to do the most damage. Sometimes, she dreamed of hurting him, leaving physical scars on his hide for the scars he had left on her heart. All these memories pound into her as walks forward, fully intent on following through with each and every thing.

Yet, as she calls his name, he looks to her and his gaze softens. Tove tries to hate for that, hate him for making her feel anything but anger at him. His voice is soft as Víðarr speaks her name, the word that follows is unknown to her. Anger wars with a deep, unfathomable sadness as she looks at him, this wolf she had convinced herself to hate. But the softness that falls over him washes away every last hurtful thing she was going to say, dousing the burning rage that had kept her going since she had awoken. The scarred woman suddenly feels hollow, an empty shell where once was anger.

Sadness fills her gaze as she looks at the big Viking and her gravelly voice breaking the air again to say, “You left.” It is a blunt statement, but, when it hurts to speak, why mince words? Duel-toned eyes watch him, wanting, needing to understand why he hadn’t been there to hold her when she woke up screaming herself hoarse from the nightmares. When she had awoken after the attack, to find him gone, Tove had felt the bitter sting of betrayal.

But, right know she wants to know why he had left, why everything in her life had changed on that fateful day. So, she repeats her statement but her tone takes on a depressed, accusatory tone, “You left.” Her vision becomes hazy as tears prick at the back of her eyes.


"Tove Baade"