You see an old man, Stig, watching the growing crowd of people. You stop and ask what’s the matter. You think to yourself that these cries sound like those you heard from your brother the night after mother died.
“Can’t you see, my boy?” Stig responds. “That ship left with sixty men months ago. How many do you see now?”
You count maybe thirty men, realizing that your brother might well not be on that ship. You run, ready to scream his name, but the steersman’s eyes meet your own. “Your brother …,” he begins.
You know you should not be sad or upset, but your lip starts to tremble anyway.
“Hush, boy. He didn’t die on the ship but on the battlefield. The valkyries have him. You should be proud.”
You …
