Page 8 - My FlipBook

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spot of calm in what Lena feared would be, at best, a
tumultuous day.

“What is this ship?” she asked, her blue eyes wide.
Lena and Amal exchanged the briefest of glances, try-
ing to rein in their disbelief. Bejla was a sweet girl—
eighteen, just as Lena was—but her perpetual supply of
questions amazed Lena. Still, Bejla had only been in the
village for less than a year, since that strange night she
had stumbled into the village at winter’s end, all alone
and with little more than a pelt on her. That was one of
this settlement’s redeeming qualities, Lena supposed—

like with Amal, Bejla had also been quickly accepted and
brought into the village. It felt as if she had always lived
just minutes away, on the fringes of their settlement,
but with a start, Lena realized that Bejla would have no
way of knowing that the ship returning was her father’s.
“It is Chief Fredrik’s,” Lena explained, staring out
at the water’s edge in the distance. She could hear the

elated cries of reunion as they caught on the wind, mix-
ing with bird cries and bitter wind. “My father, I mean.”
When Bejla did not respond, Lena glanced back to
her. Her eyes were narrow now, sky blue reflected on a
frozen lake. Wisps of blonde hair blew across her lips,
some sticking to her mouth. Absently, she brushed them
away and seemed to feel Lena’s eyes on her.
“Of course,” she breathed, letting out a shaky laugh.
Lena frowned, tilting her head. Perhaps her friend was

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