Homecomings
It wasn’t thunder. She was a daughter of Thor. She knew the sound of thunder. Sudrstjarna’s axe was in her hand before she’d exited the bed.
My empty bed. A bitter thought.
She’d known the cut-throats would come. Assassins in the night. She just expected she had a little longer. That the loyalty of her Jarls would insulate her.
But two years was a long time for a raiding party to be gone with less than a whisper. And even longer for her clan to tolerate her as chieftain.
She’d long ago accepted that Skrallin would not return. Naturally she couldn’t tell her Jarls that, instead playing the loyal chieftain’s wife. Her life quite literally depended on it.
Axe in hand, she followed the sound, out of her home, into the courtyard. The moon was just a sliver to see by.
She would kill twice her number. She vowed that to herself.
“Sudrstjarna…” a voice whispered.
“Skrallin?” She nearly dropped her fur, her bare skin glowing in the moonlight.
Cloaked in shadow, a man approached. But she did not fear: she would recognize that stride anywhere.
Sudrstjarna ran into his arms. “My love.” She looked at him. Something seemed off, but it was undoubtedly her husband. He even smelled like Skrallin. Yet he said nothing.
“I will gather the Jarls, husband! This is a day to rejoice.”
He shook his head. “No, my love. You must continue to lead our clan.”
“Wha? What? I do not understand.”
Skrallin reached to his hat.
That’s when Sudrstjarna realized what was off. Skrallin never wore a hat.
He pulled off the hat. The problem was not his hat.
Springing up from the side of his head like two cattails in a creek, a pair of Donkey ears.
“Woden’s breath!”
Skrallin’s eyes look to the snowy ground in shame. “I have been cursed.”
“I… see that.” It shamed her but it was difficult not to laugh.
“Sudrstjarna, please. You must remain chieftain and keep me hidden until we can find a cure for my malady.”
Sudrstjarna nodded slowly, suddenly wishing it had been the assassins.
“Of course husband. Anything for you.”