The season moved on, and a message came to Hammarsby that visitors were on the way: Eirik and Hakon, traveling from the north back to the Jarl’s court at Freyrsfjord. They’d be home for only one night. Ingi ordered a sheep slaughtered, and set her housecarls to baking.

Eyvind was saddling a horse, getting ready to ride out to meet his brother. In his mind was a joyful reunion on the track that skirted the fjord, a companionable ride back up the hillside while the two Wolfskins gave him all the news, then an evening’s feasting and tales. He could hardly keep the grin off his face. Somerled stood silent in the stable doorway, watching him intently. Eyvind had gotten used to Somerled being always there, a still shadow, eyes following his every move. At first, this had been deeply unsettling; now, he was so accustomed to it that he thought he might almost miss the other boy if he were not constantly present.

“I shouldn’t be long,” Eyvind said a little awkwardly.

“It’s all right.” Somerled’s voice was level, self-contained. “I know your brother means a lot to you. He is a Wolfskin; you aspire to be just like him. I can understand that.”

“I’m sorry…” Eyvind fell silent, not at all sure how to finish.

“Off you go,” Somerled said. “I can see every moment’s delay chafes you. Go on.”

“I’ll see you later, then.” Eyvind swung up onto the horse, the prospect of a gallop down the broad path under the firs already driving Somerled from his thoughts.

“Eyvind!” It was his mother’s voice, and a moment later Ingi appeared from the longhouse, drying her hands on her apron.

“What is it, Mother?”

“I’m sorry, son, I know you wanted to ride down to the fjord and meet them, but I need you to go over to Snorri Erlandsson’s. I’ve two milch cows ailing now, and I need him to have a look at them before another night passes. If we don’t nip this in the bud, the whole herd will be at risk. I’m sorry, Eyvind.” Ingi had seen the expression on her son’s face. “All the other boys are out helping with plowing and I just can’t spare anyone else.”

“It’s all right, Mother, of course I’ll go,” Eyvind said, swallowing his disappointment. The dairy herd was a substantial part of their livelihood; a chance to greet the Wolfskins on his own was nothing to this. He tried hard not to look as if it mattered to him.

“I’ll go.”

Ingi and Eyvind turned equally surprised faces toward Somerled. He had never ridden so far on his own; more significantly, he had never before volunteered for a task, though, when asked, he performed them in acquiescent, expressionless silence.

“I don’t think—” Ingi began.

“It’s too far—” Eyvind spoke at the same time.