Someone was crying. Her hand reached out, searching for Frigga, her eyes still closed and heavy with sleep. That was when her hands brushed up against it, something hard and stiff, something that pressed down the furs around her and dug into her side. She opened her eyes, her heart leaping to her throat as something dark and furry sniffed at her face. The goat bleated, washing her skin with a wave of warm, sticky air, a bleat that sounded so much like a cry, and Enid yelped, pushing the goat from her and sitting up, but it was the sound she made that woke Frigga, that had her crying and wriggling in the cot beside her.

“Sshhh, it’s alright,” said Enid, reaching for Frigga and cradling her, but Frigga kept crying, screaming louder and louder and pushing at Enid’s chest to get away. “I’m sorry. Don’t cry, don’t cry.”

She stood, bouncing the child in her arms and hoping with all of her heart that Frigga would just stop, but then Enid heard a voice so cold and so sharp snapping at her in the darkness, and Enid turned, seeing those sky-blue eyes glaring at her.

“She won’t stop,” she whispered.

Freya spoke again, her voice dripping with ice, her hands reaching for Frigga. As soon as she held her, Frigga stopped crying, resting her head on Freya’s shoulder and rubbing her eyes and Freya whispered to her, rocking her back and forth, everything about her then so soft and gentle. In moments the child was asleep, in moments Enid felt so small. Freya laid her down, wrapping the furs around her and smoothing the hair from her face, and then she turned, her eyes squinting and glaring, her finger pointing to the space beside Frigga, and then she brought it to her lips, hushing her just like Ivar had done back on the cart. Without a word Enid slipped into the cot, without a word she watched Freya disappear back up the ladder. Without a word she wondered what she was doing here.

She woke to that same voice, all soft and gentle and coaxing Frigga awake as Enid opened her eyes, seeing Freya crouching on the cot beside her and lifting Frigga in her arms. She saw them then, those dirty boots digging into the furs, dropping and rubbing mud all over the cot and Enid bit them back, those harsh remarks she wanted to snap at the girl, her own thoughts and feelings as Freya turned to her then, standing from the cot and pointing her finger towards the back of the room.

Frigga clung to her, eyeing Enid from the nape of her neck with eyes that were still dull and hazy with sleep as Freya pointed to a large chest, jerking her head at Enid without saying a word. So slowly Enid opened it, so quietly she rested the lid against the wall for fear of making another mistake. Oats, that was what was in it. Freya handed her a scoop and jerked her head towards a pot.

“I know how to make porridge,” Enid said, but the girl only jerked her head again, the look on her face turning colder and sharper.

Enid sighed, taking a few scoops of oats and water from the pail in the kitchen into a fresh pot and then she took it, hanging it over that rectangular firepit and sitting down to stir it, but Freya kicked at her stool, almost knocking it out from under Enid and hissing something under her breath.

“What are you doing?” Enid snapped, but then she watched the girl grab a handful of herbs from a nearby table and toss them in the pot. Enid stared at them, seeing those nettles and other stringy, leafy stems and she sighed. No wonder their food had tasted like mud.

It wasn't long before the others joined them, taking large scoops of porridge into their wooden bowls and sitting by the fire. So softly Ivar talked to them, so happily they answered him back and for a moment she almost forgot all that had happened, she almost forgot where she was, but then he said something to Freya and Freya snapped at him and stamped her foot.

They all turned to Enid then, their eyes cold and harsh. Only Tyr smiled, only Tyr nodded and turned his head back to Ivar to say something and then that light in Freya’s eyes turned into something dark, something twisted. She stood, thrusting Frigga into Enid’s arms and stomping from the room, the door slamming shut behind her. Enid watched her go, holding Frigga tighter, a sinking feeling tearing through her stomach, but then she felt something else, something pulling at her skirts and tickling her ankle and she looked down, seeing that same goat from the night before, nibbling at her clothes, and she yelped, kicking at it and shooing it away.

“Stop that!” she hissed, but then she heard it, a laugh that was soft, a laugh that was light.

Tyr said something, the light in his eyes warm, a large smile spread across his lips. Ivar stood, Enid's heart leaping to her throat as he strode over to her and she thought he would strike. For a moment she could only think of how tightly he had gripped her wrist back on the boat and she held Frigga to her, turning to shield the child from him and those cold, blue eyes, but then he sighed, then he picked up the goat and sat back down with it in his lap by the fire.