He held on until his arms went numb.
The ridge was quiet in a way that felt earned, not empty. Wind moved through the trees without teeth in it. Snow clung only in patches now, retreating into shade and cracks in the ground. Thorfinn kept his back against the trunk, one knee drawn up, Riqua pressed to his chest like something that might break if he loosened his grip.
He did not sleep.
Every time Riqua's breathing changed, Thorfinn felt it in his own ribs. He counted the breaths without meaning to. Slow. In. Out. Slow again.
When Riqua woke properly, it was late afternoon.
He did not move at first. His eyes opened, unfocused, staring past the trees. Then he blinked and winced.
"Everything hurts," he said.
Thorfinn nodded. "That's good."
Riqua frowned weakly. "You're terrible at comfort."
"I know."
Riqua tried to shift and failed. His jaw tightened, a sound catching in his throat that he swallowed down.
Thorfinn adjusted his hold, careful, slow. "Don't rush it."
Riqua exhaled. "Feels like something inside me's been torn loose."
"It was."
"That's comforting," Riqua muttered.
Thorfinn almost smiled. Almost.
They stayed there another hour. Thorfinn let Riqua drink melted snow again, fed him a few chewed roots, small bites. He watched for fever. It lingered, but it no longer climbed.
When they moved again, Thorfinn half carried him, half dragged. Riqua insisted on walking, even when his legs shook.
"I won't be dead weight," he said through clenched teeth.
"You already paid for that," Thorfinn replied. "Now shut up and walk."
Riqua huffed a breath that might have been laughter.
They reached a stream just before dusk. Clear water, running fast over stone. Thorfinn cleaned the wounds again, washing away old blood and grime. Riqua bit down on his sleeve and did not scream.
When they finished, Riqua lay back, staring up through the branches.
"You ever notice," he said quietly, "how everything just keeps going. Even when it shouldn't."
"Yes."
Riqua turned his head. "Does that bother you."
Thorfinn thought of his father. Of blood in the snow. Of men who died screaming and men who died silent.
"No," he said. "It keeps me moving."
Riqua nodded slowly. "I think I need that."
They camped there. No fire this time. Just cloaks and bodies pressed close. The night was milder. Thorfinn still did not sleep.
Sometime before dawn, Riqua spoke again.
"If I die," he said, voice steady, "don't stop walking."
Thorfinn stiffened. "You're not dying."
"I said if."
Thorfinn did not answer.
Riqua swallowed. "Promise me."
Thorfinn closed his eyes for a moment. When he opened them, the sky was already lightening.
"I won't stop," he said. "But you're walking with me."
Riqua smiled faintly. "That's not what I asked."
"It's what you're getting."
They moved again with the sun.
By the third day, Riqua could stand on his own. By the fourth, he could walk without leaning as hard. The pain stayed, but it dulled into something he could live inside.
They found a village on the edge of the woods. Small. Poor. Smoke rising from low roofs. Thorfinn watched it from the trees, counting men, exits, angles.
Riqua followed his gaze. "We need food."
"We might need blood," Thorfinn said.
They waited until dusk.
They entered quietly. Took what they could without being seen. A loaf of bread hard as stone. A strip of salted fish. A flask of weak ale.
They were almost out when someone shouted.
A man came running with a spear. Others followed. Fear turned sharp fast.
Thorfinn pushed Riqua behind him. "Run."
Riqua did not.
"I can fight," he said.
Thorfinn glanced back. Saw the set of his shoulders. The knife steady in his hand.
"Stay alive," Thorfinn said instead.
The fight was fast and ugly. No glory. No space. Thorfinn cut one man down and broke another's arm with a twist and a kick. Someone slashed his thigh. He felt it tear and ignored it.
Riqua moved like a cornered animal. No wasted motion. No hesitation. He stabbed low, again and again, eyes locked on his target until the man fell.
They escaped into the dark, breaths ragged, blood soaking into their clothes.
They did not speak until they were miles away.
When they finally stopped, Riqua leaned over and retched. Nothing came up. Just dry heaves and shaking.
Thorfinn waited.
"I hated that," Riqua said hoarsely.
"Yes."
"I don't think I'll ever stop hating it."
"That's good," Thorfinn said.
Riqua looked at him sharply. "You really believe that."
"Yes."
They walked again.
Days blurred. Pain faded into scars. Hunger came and went. They learned each other's rhythms without talking about it. When to stop. When to push. When silence was safer than words.
One night, as they watched the stars through bare branches, Riqua spoke again.
"I don't know what I'm becoming," he said.
Thorfinn stared up at the sky. "Neither do I."
Riqua breathed out. "Promise me something."
Thorfinn did not look at him. "You're not dying."
"I know," Riqua said. "This time it's different."
Thorfinn waited.
"If I turn into something I can't stand," Riqua said, voice low, "don't lie to me about it."
Thorfinn finally turned. Met his eyes.
"I won't," he said.
That was the promise that mattered.
They lay there until sleep finally took them both, not gentle, not kind, but real.
The road ahead was still soaked in blood.
They would walk it anyway.
The river cut their path the next morning.
It was wider than it looked from the ridge, dark water moving fast over broken stone. Snowmelt swelled it, made it loud enough to drown out distant sounds. Thorfinn stopped at the edge and scanned both banks. Tracks. Fresh. More than two.
Riqua saw them too.
"We're not alone," he said.
"No," Thorfinn replied. "And they're not hiding."
That was what bothered him. Whoever had crossed here had not cared to cover their steps. That meant strength, or recklessness. Sometimes both.
They followed the river upstream where it narrowed. Thorfinn crossed first, boots slipping on slick rock, arms out for balance. Riqua followed slower, jaw tight, refusing help until the current nearly took him. Thorfinn caught him by the collar and hauled him upright without a word.
On the far bank, the forest closed in again. Thicker here. Older. The kind of place where sound died quickly and mistakes stayed.
They had gone no more than a hundred paces when the arrow struck.
It buried itself in the tree beside Thorfinn's head, quivering.
Riqua dropped instantly, knife out.
Thorfinn did not move. He lifted his hands slowly, empty.
"Bad shot," a voice called out. Young. Male. Calm in a way that felt practiced.
Another figure stepped from behind a tree to their left. A girl. Slight, but standing loose and balanced, a short sword resting across her shoulder like it belonged there. Her hair was tied back tight, eyes sharp and curious rather than hostile.
"You could've killed him," she said, glancing toward where the arrow had landed.
"I warned him," the boy replied as he emerged from the brush opposite her. He carried a bow almost as tall as he was, held easy. His stance was relaxed, but his eyes missed nothing.
Thorfinn studied them both.
The boy was about their age, maybe a year older. Lean, long limbed, scars on his hands that spoke of string burn and blades both. The girl was younger, but not by much. There was something hard in the way she stood. Something already settled.
"We're just passing through," Thorfinn said.
The girl snorted. "Everyone says that."
Riqua rose slowly to a crouch. "We didn't know this was your land."
The boy tilted his head. "It's not."
"Then why shoot," Thorfinn asked.
The boy smiled faintly. "Because people lie."
The girl lowered her sword slightly and looked at Riqua. "You're hurt."
Riqua bristled. "I'm standing."
"Barely," she said. Not cruel. Just honest.
Thorfinn shifted, placing himself half in front of Riqua again. "Names," he said. "If we're doing this."
The boy considered, then nodded. "I'm Einar Halvorsen."
The girl tapped the flat of her blade against her shoulder. "Freydis Skarnsdottir."
Their names settled into the air, solid and real.
"I'm Thorfinn," Thorfinn said. "This is Riqua Varson."
Einar's eyes flicked to the bandages, then to Thorfinn's blades. "You've been fighting."
"Yes."
Freydis smiled then, quick and sharp. "Good."
That was when the shouting started.
It rose from behind them, distant but closing fast. Too many voices. Angry. Armed.
Einar swore under his breath. "They followed you."
Thorfinn turned toward the sound. "Who."
"Doesn't matter," Freydis said, already moving. "They're not friendly."
"How many," Riqua asked.
Einar listened, head tilted. "Eight. Maybe nine."
Freydis grinned. "That's manageable."
Riqua looked at her like she was mad.
Thorfinn did not argue. He drew his knives.
They took positions without discussion. Freydis vanished into the brush to the left. Einar climbed a fallen tree, nocking an arrow smooth and quiet. Thorfinn stood his ground. Riqua stayed close behind him.
The first man burst through the trees shouting.
He died with an arrow through his throat.
The rest followed hard, weapons raised, fury loud and blind. Einar's arrows fell among them like rain, each one placed with care. Freydis struck from the side, blade flashing, cutting hamstrings, throats, leaving men screaming in the dirt.
Thorfinn met the center head on.
Steel rang. Blood sprayed. He moved through them like he always did, precise and ruthless, each kill clean because it had to be. Riqua fought too, slower, grimmer, every movement deliberate. He took a blow to the shoulder and answered it with a knife buried deep in a man's gut.
It was over fast.
Too fast.
Silence rushed back in, broken only by ragged breathing.
Einar dropped down from the tree, already checking bodies. Freydis wiped her blade on the grass, expression unreadable.
Riqua bent over, hands on his knees, shaking.
"You're still bleeding," Freydis said, kneeling beside him without asking. She retied the bandage tighter, fingers quick and sure.
"Thanks," Riqua muttered.
She glanced up at him. "Don't thank me yet. You're still alive. That can change."
Einar walked over to Thorfinn. "You fight like someone who doesn't expect to survive."
Thorfinn met his gaze. "I survive anyway."
Einar smiled, genuine this time. "Fair."
They moved the bodies, dragged them off the path. No ceremony. No words.
As dusk fell, they sat around a low fire, the four of them forming an uneasy circle.
Freydis leaned back on her hands. "So," she said, "where are you two going."
Thorfinn looked into the fire. "West."
Einar raised a brow. "That's vague."
"It's enough," Riqua said.
Freydis studied them, then shrugged. "We're heading that way too."
Einar nodded. "Might as well walk together. Less chance of dying stupid."
Riqua glanced at Thorfinn.
Thorfinn considered the fire, the blood on his hands, the road stretching ahead.
"Alright," he said.
Freydis grinned. Einar smiled wider.
The fire crackled. The night settled in around them.
Four paths had crossed.
None of them knew yet how deeply they would tangle.
They slept with weapons close and trust thin.
Morning would come regardless.