Page 5 - My FlipBook

T h e We i g ht o f a So ul

Lena blinked while Fressa and Amal dissolved into
laughter. Lena was on track to be the village’s next

healer—she could barely hold a small blade, let alone
Fressa’s weighty, frightening axe. She rolled her eyes,
but couldn’t quite tear her gaze from the axe in her sis-
ter’s hands. Lena marveled at the relaxed curl of Fressa’s
fingers around the hilt; it was as if she’d been born with
weapons in hand.
“You’d have died a thousand times without my skills,”
Lena shot back.
“And for that, I am grateful,” Amal interceded. Fressa

heaved a dramatic, amorous sigh.
Before Lena could think of an equally disgusting
reply, a low horn echoed across the valley, down from
the riverfront and sweeping past them into the village,
taking their easy smiles with it.
“Is he back?” Lena whispered, even though the three
of them stood between the river and their village, far

away enough from both not to be heard. Amal walked
a few steps closer to the river, squinting hard along the
small strip of dark water that traced its way through
their valley.
The serpent-head prow of their father’s boat pressed
its way into their vision with icy slowness. Lena struggled
to remember how long he’d been gone this time. Well
over a year. She couldn’t even recall where he’d gone.
Was it Francia? The Baltic? There used to be a time

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