Pregnancy can be a wonderful thing. It is the time during which women carry within their bodies a tiny life. The sheer thought of it is splendidly wonderous. During that time of life, the woman names her child (another terrific act) and consults with her mate about their plans for the future.
Pregnancy can be a wonderful thing. Can. A woman may find an unplanned pregnancy unsettling, to say the very least. When she has no mate with which to share the joy, things get worse. When the woman is no older than twenty-two, the situation seems to have reached an all-time low.
Such is Astrid. She is a Scandinavian woman who is just ending her first trimester. She is stocky from living on a farm her entire life, yet she is also vaguely pretty. Her features are kind; her hair is blonde and nearly always braided; her eyes are a cheerful brown.
Astrid's entire family died in a house fire. She had been seeking refuge one night during a heavy storm in May when a tree right near her house was stricken by lightning. It caught fire and smashed through the roof of the house. Her neighbors did everything they could to stop the blaze, but by this time the rain was drizzling off and neither the house, nor the people within, could be saved. All that survived was a tiny calico kitten who was later named Freya.
Astrid had married in October of the previous year to a man named Egil. He was a fisherman, and in September of this year, he drowned at sea. His boat had been found a week after the storm, capsized and gashed.
Astrid, however, had no time to mourn. It was a few weeks before winter began to set in, and she needed to finish preparing the tiny cabin that took the place of her home. That meant that she chopped wood, cared for the animals that remained, knit, sewed, embroidered, stitched, cooked, cleaned, and sleapt, all the while caring for the child within her and the cat, Freya.
Luckily, Astrid's neighbors were kind enough. They had built, under the supervision of Egil, the cabin (for the most part). Various women donated foodstuffs and garments. Soon, she and Freya were doing fairly well. They nestle down into the cabin, keeping the fire roaring, and trying to deal with the grief delivered them before the winter came.
Freya sleeps near the hearth. Her multi-hued coat catches the light from the fire. She purrs faintly before being jolted awake by Astrid's shouts. She cocks her tiny head to the side and blinks at the woman.
Astrid was, up until this point, embroidering an apron. She didn't have to, but there was little else she could do. She had been pricking herself countless times before she finally gave up dealing with the pain that is shooting through her fingertip. Cursing, she throws the yarn down into the basket beside her. "I need a walk," she mutters, rising. She decides to go out to the barn to see to the animals.
Muttering nearly incoherantly about the sharpness of needles, Astrid pulls thick stockings up to her thighs and unlaces her boots. She shoves her feet into them and ties them tightly. She yanks a sweater over her head, her blond braids becoming slightly disheveled in the process. She throws a cloak about her shoulders, fastening it before putting on mittens and her old, worn, warm scarf. She touches her belly lightly. The doctor said that the child is healthy and should be coming around march. Now, though, her belly is already swelling. Sighing, Astrid pulls the door open.
Flurries drift in via a soft breeze. Freya curls up tighter against the chill and puffs up her diminutive body. As the door closes, the calico kitten falls asleep again.
The barn is an ancient structure; it was built by Astrid's great-grandfather six times removed. Compared to the early winter outside, it is sweltering. However, it is merely luke-warm in comparison to cabin. Within the barn are many animals. Cattle, sheep, goats, pigs, and chickens are most common. Two old nags slumber and a donkey brays. Among these specimens are two creatures far more magnificent than the livestock for which they care: Denby and Havelock.
The boys have sandy-blond hair, are roughly of the same height and build, and are the same age. Both have the same love of animals, the kind heart, the steady hands, and the solid mind that made Astrid request them specially when offered assistance from their families. The main difference, besides their families, is that Denby has brown eyes, and Havelock has blue ones. Also, Havelock sports freckles all year round; Denby only gets them in the summer. Also, despite first ideas, the two are not at all related.
"Afternoon, boys," Astrid greets them as she enters the barn. "When you're finished, feel free to stop by the cabin. I'll be in shortly. I've need of a walk." She smiles, approaching them after closing the structure's door.
"Certainly, miss Astrid," Denby responds. He is the more loquatious of the two. "'Twould be an honor." He grins and pitchforks fresh straw into the stall of a cow.
"'Twould," Havelock repeats. He nods as he passes her with chicken feed.
"You two are a blessing," Astrid remarks, smiling and clasping her hands together. "I don't know how I'd manage without you and the others. Let yourselves in if I'm not there, but don't let Freya out, please. Thank you again." She toussles thehair of both boys as she passes them on her way to the other side of the barn. There, the field-working tools lay idle. "I'll make it up to you!" she calls before adjusting her cloak and walking out the door.
"Nice woman, she," Denby states, grinning. He pitches another forkful of hay into the stall with the cow.
"Nice," Havelock concurs, showing little expression as he feeds the chickens.
"Don't you ever smile? Gods! Somedays I wonder if you're a changeling or somewhat!"
At this, Havelock smirks, but he says nothing.
The woods that surround the farm were deeded to Astrid by her grandfather. He had seen how much they thrilled her, and he made certain that she received them when he died. He always did enjoy seeing things go in ways that cheered up his grand-daughter. It was a pity he died before Astrid's parents. If he hadn't, he would have been able to cheer her a little.
The woods are as cold as the fields, and just as lonely. With winter setting in, many animals have taken to hibernating. Very few creatures are sturdy enough to winter-over in these woods.
Humming quietly, Astrid picks her way through the woods. She is careful not to trip over any roots, rocks, or other obsticles. As she walks, she makes her way to a pond.
Most of the year, the pond is frozen over. For a few months, however, it is unfrozen. In those few moments of true summer, fish become quite abundant. Thus, beneath the thin layer of ice, various fish swim. Astrid sighs and plops down on the thin layer of snow to stare at them. Eventually, the ice will be thick enough to walk upon. Now, however, it is merely beautiful to behold.
Astrid huddles her legs against her belly. Somewhere, close and yet far away, a bird calls. She catches snowflurries on her cloak and smiles a little at them. Someday she will have a child with which to share these moments. For now, however, she has only herself.
Astrid rises with a sigh. She stretches as she is begining to feel the brunt of motherhood. Stuffing her hands beneath her arms to keep them warm despite her mittens, she walks around the perimiter of the lake as the snow begins to pick up.
"Funny," she states, staring up at the sky for a moment, "it's not even deep winter yet. It will be a cold one, though. I hope the boys are inside soon. It looks as if a blizzard shall be coming." That said, she takes her time. Whiteouts are rare during this time of year, and for now, only very large snowflakes are dappling the ground. The wind has yet to pick up speed and begin to pelt her face with the tiny crystals.
Astrid begins to hum to break the silence that shrouds the sylvan area. It is a song that her father had sung to her as a child, and it is one that she plans to sing to her child. It is an epic of a man named Sigurd who overcame all the obsticles before him. He conquered great beasts that had tormented the townspeople of various areas. The reason why he could do this was because he was bathed in the blood of a very fierce dragon. He was vulnerable in only one spot: that hard to reach area between his shoulder blades. That region had been covered by a leaf when he bathed.
The part that Astrid likes so much of that song was that it is flexible. The rytham and meter allow for so many variations. If a child very much likes one part over another, the parent can easilly adapt the entire song to be similar. It is a song that almost every child in the town of Rumptlesfjord has heard. Those that have not are greatly underprivledged.
Finally, Astrid begins to make her way home. As she walks, however, she begins to gather snow in her mittened hands. The pump is too far away; she does not dream of sending either of the boys to fetch its water. Besides, the pump is probably frozen solid. She does not want to waste the water that she has stored. Thusly, she gathers snow.
By the time she reaches the cabin, Astrid has a fair amount of the tiny water crystals. She pulls the door open and enters the cabin. She smiles as she notes two sweaters, cloaks, mitten sets, boot pairs, and little boys sitting by the hearth. The latter most play with Freya. The boys look up at Astrid while she grabs the kettle and dumps the snow within. It will not amount for very much, but the boys drink very little tea. Havelock has an allergy to many forms of it and Denby merely dislikes the taste. However, if it is all that is to drink, they will both consume of it. Astrid has found that both enjoy peppermint tea, and Havelock does not break out in hives because of it.
"Good to see you both made it here safely," Astrid remarks, setting the kettle in the fire after yanking her mittens from her hands. She, like the boys before her, begins to shed the layers that had warmed her outside. Her sweater, cloak, scarf, and boots form a similar pile of clothes. However, hers is moved back a bit from the fire. She moves the boys' as well.
"Climb into my bed," she instructs. "You'll catch cold otherwise."
"That's just an old wives' tale, miss Astrid!" Denby protests.
"Old, am I now?" Astrid remarks, smiling. "Climb into bed and I'll tell you a story."
The boys do as they are told. They pull the covers up and sit erect. Freya joins them, nestling herself between the pair.
"Now then," Astrid states, pulling a blanket from a chest, "what sort of story shall we have?"
"One of knights!" Denby supplies.
"Nay! One of magic!" Havelock counters.
"A palidin, then?" Astrid inquires rhetorically. "And where shall we base our story?"
"Vallhalla," Havelock suggests.
"Nay! That's not believable. Here. In Rumptlesfjord," Denby argues.
"You think there's a palidin running about Rumptlesfjord?" Havelock queries.
"Boys!" Astrid interjects, urging them to calm. "We'll set it both places. After all, all heros must die, true?"
"Yes, miss Astrid," the two chorus.
"Very good. Now then, what is a hero without a quest?" She flings the blanket onto her rocking chair before steeping peppermint tea into the teapot. "Nothing. Therefore, what shall we have him seek?"
"The Ottersgild!" Denby cries.
"It's the Rhinegold, and people already sought that. How about a Valkyrie?" Havelock suggests.
"Sigurd went after a Valkyrie."
"Sigurd went after the Rhinegold, too."
"Sigurd this, Sigurd that. Don't you two trust that I can spin a sufficient tale?" Astrid inquires, once again breaking up their squabble. "Now then, our palidin needs a name."
"Kerr!" Havelock prompts.
"For once we agree," Denby adds. "Kerr is good."
"Kerr the palidin is to ride on a quest of unknown deeds and will eventually die and go to Vallhalla. Yes?" Astrid reports.
"Yes!" the two chorus before laughing.
Background by Ender Design