Fear and Doubt and Hope and Trust.

On Friday night, as the rain pounded my windows and a damp wind crept into my house, Fear stood before me. His skinny arms crossed, his eyes slits and a smile on his lips. Doubt, fat and plump, sat on his shoulders, flapping his dull wings lazily.

Fear poked me in my ribs with his long finger and said,

“Don’t trust this man. It will all lead to pain.”

Doubt happily lifted from his spot and flew around my head chirping,

“They are all the same. They are all the same. They are all the same.”

Fear caressed my cheek, I closed my eyes, felt his cool familiar touch.

“Reject him before he rejects you.”

I sat down at my desk, dipped my pen in the ink and wrote a letter of goodbye. On the verge of sending the letter, my mother’s voice calm and clear, came to me.

“Sleep on it. Tomorrow is another day.”

I went to bed with Fear by my bedside and Doubt in triumph flying around the room.

 

Saturday morning arrived in bright sunshine and crystal clear skies. The trees shone in copper and blood. Fear stood by my bed with Doubt slothfully sleeping on his shoulder. I swiftly got out of bed.

Swatted Doubt, fat and plump, from Fear’s shoulder. He bounced surprised a few times before he crawled into a dark corner. Fear crossed his arms, threw out his chest and glared at me. I firmly put my hand on his shoulder.

“I won’t feed you anymore. I exil you!”

He poked me in the ribs again.

“You know I am right.” His word silky “Life has proven this to you.”

I gently removed his finger from my side.

“I am stronger than you. No matter what happens I always survive. Life has proven this to me.”

Fear smiled gleefully at me.

“You think you can get rid of me that easily? I will just wait right here for you to come back.”

He sat down cross legged next to my bed and leaned on the wall.

“I will wait right here for you.”

 

On Sunday morning Fear still sat next to my bed. Perhaps he looked slightly paler.  I took my lantern and searched the most secluded, most secret corner of my cabinet until I found a small pine box. I gently carried it downstairs and placed it in the sunshine  on the kitchen table. Carefully I removed the lid and the pink tissue paper. Curled up around each other Trust and Hope slept.

I leaned over the box and whispered,

“I am ready to let you out now.”

Trust opened her eyes and looked at me, yawned and stretched her kaleidoscope wings. She nudged Hope, deep in sleep. Hope rolled to her side and opened one eye, put out her tiny hand in the sunlight and in a flash she left the box. Leaped around the room a few times before she landed in my palm. She smiled brightly towards me.

“About time!” she said before she took off again.

Trust, harder to convince slowly left the box. She took a few practice steps before she walked up my arm and whispered in my ear,

“Feed me! The more I get the stronger I become.”

That night I went to bed with Hope and Trust, counting the hours until you will be mine.

Ingrid, Astrid and Sven

A bird’s body, hair feather white.  Her grip surprisingly firm.

“I need my blue summer coat.” 

She commanded and sent me on a search.

Closets, coat rack and the dresser.

But no summer coat to be found.

“I’m sorry,” I said apologetic. “I seem not to be able to find your coat.”

She looked at me sternly.

“Silly girl, have you looked in the attic?”

Perplexed I looked at the old woman.

“Attic? But mam, you don’t have an attic.”

Her eyes got muddy with confusion and she waved me away.

I thought a misunderstanding had occurred so off I went again.

Searched the same closets, the same coat rack and the same dresser. 

No blue coat. Meticulously crocheted doilies. Pillowcases with monograms.

And under the bed rolled up rag rugs. Stripped in mellow colors.

 Years of hard work.  Something for a woman to be proud of.

I left her after another thirty minutes, got on my bike and rode to the next old lady.

 

The room was cramped, filled with ornament heavy wood furniture.

“No wet rag on the furniture! It leaves streaks.”

 The voice was not kind, only demanding.

I moved carefully through the mausoleum of past times.

On one of the dressers stood  a picture of two young ladies.

The owner of the apartment and my great aunt.

In another time my family had ruled this little country side town.

My great grandfather owned the biggest house. Sat on the board of the bank.

Decided who would be graced with a loan. He used to send my grandmother. 

A lean teenager to the liquor store. His name alone was proof enough.

Now I rode my bike from house to house. Helped old ladies clean, cook and take a bath.

I changed catheters, treated bed sores and searched for summer coats.

When I was done dusting without using a wet rag I was treated to a glass of water in the kitchen.

“During the war the trains stopped here. We all knew who the Nazis were. The big farmers. Stood by the train and waved. Gave the soldiers bread and apples. What a shame!”

I finished one glass and asked for another.

“You know how some people say that Hitler has a son.”

I nodded and drank.

“But he can’t have a son.  I know.”

Some sort of joy had joined her voice.

“My sister’s husband was in the same battalion as Hitler during the war. Not the second. The first. And he told us that Hitler got one of his balls shot off in the war.”

She giggled like a school girl.

 

The last house for the day was located all the way up the hill. Past the nine hundred year old church.

Magnificent green wood house on the end of a road lined with maple trees.

The man was dignified, gentle and almost rueful as he showed me where the cleaning supplies were.

He didn’t disturb me as I worked. He sat in an old red armchair and read. The walls covered in leather bound  books.

On one of the walls in the airy entrance hall hung a beautiful shawl. Crimson with gold thread. The shawl was covered in striking jewelry and underneath a black and white photo in a silver frame. Two young men and a woman.

“He was my best friend.”

I almost jumped. I had not heard him.

“Anton Nilsson,” he said and looked questioning at me. My mother had informed me so I nodded.

“He fought in the Red Army. That was after the bombing of the Amalthea of course. We disagreed about that...”

His eyes drifted out the window. I held my breath, waiting.

“But both of us thought Stalin was a curse.”

He smiled and his eyes came back to me.

“Beautiful shawl, don’t you think? Anton’s wife’s. When she died he gave it to me. I loved her...”

He took a deep breath in and shook his head.

“A young girl like you don’t want to listen to an old man’s ramblings.”

He smiled and looked around where I had been vacuuming.

“You look done. I have fresh cinnamon rolls. Would you like to stay for a cup of tea?”

We sat in his kitchen. Fragile cups with pink roses and gold. He talked. I listened for hours.

 And I regret I don’t remember all he told me.  

 

 

 

 

 

 

You reap what you sow (inspired by True Detective)

The boy and the girl lay close together in the narrow bed. Their faces almost touching and the boy whispering.

“Death is not the end. He will avenge us. We will rise. Dark stars in the sky. No one can do this to us.”

The girl got a little closer. Her hair frizzy from the moist heat.  She caressed the boy’s face gently.  

“You are so brave, Errol. So strong. You can do anything.”

Her words made him feel good; she was the only one who made him feel good. His mother had made him feel like a prince. She used to hold him in her lap, stroke his back and whisper in his ear.

“You are my prince, Errol. My prince. One day you will rise up. You are special.”

He remembered so little, but that he remembered. And how she used to smell of flowers and how the house was different then. When she died the sun never really reached all the way into the house anymore. He rolled over to his back, looked up at the ceiling. Watched the Devil’s Nest moving in the breeze. Making stick figure shadows on the wall.

“Grandpa Tuttle is coming tomorrow. The men will go to Carcosa. Soon I will be allowed to go with them.”

The girl moved restlessly in the bed. Sat up and leaned against the headboard.

“I don’t like Grandpa Tuttle,” she said and started to pick at her cuticles. “He hurt me.” She picked the scab off her left index finger. Yesterday she had cut herself peeling potatoes. It started to bleed instantly. She put the finger in her mouth and sucked  the wound. Iron and salt landed on her tongue .

Errol put a hand on her leg.

“I never hurt you.”

She shook her head, the finger still in her mouth.

“No, never,” she said with a smile.

He moved his hand up her thigh, squeezed the muscles. Betty was strong, not the smartest girl in the world, but she was fun. And she made him feel good. She slid down so she could lie next to him and he could put his hand inside her panties. Touched the fine hair, the silky skin and the wetness.

 One day when he was nine, during the winter when the air was clear, father had brought Betty home. She was eleven, dirty and full of lice. Miss Janette had bathed her, combed her hair, cut her finger nails and fed her. He had watched as she ate. She used her fingers more than the silverware. That night when Miss Janette had put him to bed, he had asked about the girl.

“She’s your sister,” she said and helped him button his pajamas. “She has been left alone for too long. Longer than any child should be.”

At first he had been scared of Betty. She was bigger than he was and strong.  She pinched him instead of talking to him. One day that spring, when the ground had started to warm up, Grandpa Tuttle came to visit. He brought with him a large white box with a pink bow. Betty opened it in awe, inside was a beautiful doll. Bright eyed, blonde curls, a shiny white dress. He looked at Betty for a long time. She shifted her weight on the chair, uncomfortable under his gaze. After lunch he asked her to walk with him. Father didn’t object.

When Errol went out in the barn to work on his bike he found Betty sitting curled up in a corner. Crying, with blood on her dress. She wouldn’t look at him when he spoke to her. “Are you sick?” he asked over and over but she didn’t say anything so he went and got Miss Janette.

Miss Janette undressed the girl, washed her up and sang low; “Someone is cryin’ my lord, come by here”. Betty stayed in bed for a week and after that she wouldn’t leave Errol’s side.  Next time Grandpa Tuttle brought another doll, then another, then another but never did he ask Betty to walk with him again.

“I like when you make flowers on me,” she whispered in the murky room. The sun was about to set and the crickets had started singing their song. He pulled down her panties and got out of his pants. She welcomed him in her arms with warmth and tenderness. He kissed her neck, her breasts, she moaned and lifted her hips.

The headlights from the car lit up the room and Errol jumped out of the bed. Their father would soon enter the house and if he found them in bed together he would be furious. Out of instinct he rubbed his face, felt the shiny scars under his fingers. Shuddered.

“Betty.” He pulled the girls arm. She scrambled to find her panties and then she tiptoed across the hallway into the bathroom.

 

Errol walked slowly down the stairs, heard his father move around in the kitchen.  “Betty!” he screamed and Errol heard the anger in his voice. Now close to fifteen he was taller than his father but the fear was still there. The fear of violence. The fear of humiliation. The fear of the words that used to burn his insides. When his father saw him, he stopped in the middle of the kitchen floor. Stared at Errol, narrowed his eyes.

“Where is Betty? Where is the damn dinner?”

Errol didn’t look up but spoke to the floor.

“Father was running late so we ate. Dinner is on a plate in the refrigerator. Chicken and potato salad.”

“Where is that stupid girl? Betty!”

Errol heard Betty’s clumpy steps  down the stairs. She ran into the kitchen and stopped a few steps away from their father.

“Yes father?” She also kept her eyes on the floor.

“Dinner,” their father spat out.

Betty hurried over to the refrigerator and took out his plate. She placed it on the table and brought out a glass and some silverware. Their father sat down heavily. He grabbed Betty by the arm, squeezed hard around her wrist. Errol could she how she flinched.

“Drink, you stupid cow.”

“Yes, sir.”

Betty poured iced tea into the glass and put the pitcher on the table.

“You should be grateful. I could have let you die or sold you.”

“Yes, sir,“ Betty said and curtsied, and then she left the kitchen.  Errol wanted to leave too, he wanted to watch TV. He had seen in the newspaper that Hitchcock’s Psycho was on tonight.  But when he turned around to leave his father’s voice stopped him.

“Sit!”

Errol sat down and watched as his father ate. The big man cut the chicken into pieces and shoveled the meat in with the potato salad. He drank big gulps of the iced tea.

“Grandpa Tuttle is coming tomorrow.”

Errol nodded and waited as his father ate some more. Betty had turned on the TV.

“You are old enough to come with us to Carcosa.”

Errol’s mouth fell open.

“Only to watch at first. We need new younger warriors in our ranks. You will be fifteen soon.  A young man. Not a boy anymore.”

“Yes, father.” 

His father told the story of Carcosa. A fortress, a stron hold no one could conquer. The Romans,  the Crusaders, the French. They all tried but no one could defeat the city. The King in Yellow protected them. But the protection wasn’t for free. The King needed sweet, fresh blood to nourish himself.

Errol had heard this story more times that he could remember. At first it had scared him, a story of the bogeymen coming to take him. Miss Janette had comforted him many nights when he woke up screaming.  She had made Devil’s Nest’s to hang over his bed. To capture the thing that scared him. The nightmares had been so real. The man dressed in yellow stood over his bed with a knife in his hand. As he grew older he understood that he had no need to be scared. He was one of the chosen ones. His bloodline came from Carcosa. His uncles rose through society, got more power. Reverend, sheriff, governor. One day it would be his turn.  Tomorrow would be his turn.

 

Betty sat by the TV with one of her dolls, she absentmindedly caressed its hair. Errol stood in the doorway, didn’t move, only watched her. Carcosa, Carcosa, Carcosa. A dream. A curse. What I will do for revenge no one understands. Only you Carcosa. The King in Yellow, do you hear me? I am the dark star. I will do what you need me to do. All I ask is revenge. I am yours.

The words in his mind grew, burst, rained down like shattered glass. Fragile, beautiful, kaleidoscopic, sharp.  

“Betty,” he said and she jumped up scared from the floor. When she saw it was only him her face relaxed.  “I’m going to Carcosa tomorrow.”

She dropped the doll, then a big smile spread across her face and she clapped her hands.

“Oh, oh, oh,” she said and ran up to him.

“I can only watch first.” He bent down and looked into her eyes, it glimmered in there. “But when I am in charge I will avenge us. No one can treat us like this. We will get the power.”

She nodded excitedly, put her hand on his face. Followed the scars over to his lip.

“He will regret what he has done to us,” her voice low, vibrating.

Errol nodded and opened his mouth so he could lick Betty’s finger. The thought of power made him hard and he could tell she felt it too.

“I want to fuck you,” he whispered into her ear.  His words fell into her and she licked her lips.

“Father?”

Errol pointed to the ceiling. They listened to the heavy man’s steps as he walked around in the bathroom. After a few minutes he walked across the hallway and into the bedroom. The bed creaked under the weight. When it got quiet Errol grabbed Betty’s arm. Pulled her close.

“I will get it all. His power will fill me up.”

She gasped under his touch as he pulled her dress over her head. She stepped out of her panties and he got out of his pants.

“Look how hard I am. I can feel his power.”

She laid down on the couch and he entered her. Pushed hard, he knew she liked it hard.

“Errol,” she moaned. “You are so strong! So brave!”

“Yes,yes, yes. I will get it all!”       

At the moment of climax when he normally was filled with nothingness a man appeared. A two faced man. A tidy man with a notebook and a man filled with haunt, burning eyes, a man who could taste the air. Next to the man the faint watermark of a girl. She held onto the man’s hand. A string of gold tied the man to the girl.  A sudden flash of realization hit him. This man was his destiny.

Midgård

The summer sun was beating down on her head as she sat outside the longhouse. Her back ached an d she could feel the baby pressing down on her pelvis. Soon it would be time. Soon.  The boy came running around the corner; his light, almost white hair caught the sun. With him came the grey dog, his constant companion. He stopped in front of her, panting. The dog jumped around him a few times, his pink tongue hanging out of the side of the mouth. 

“Mor.” The boy put a hand on her leg. “Will he be home today?” Gudrun caressed her son’s gleaming hair.

“Any day now.” The boy looked up at her with dark blue eyes. The same eyes as his father.

“Can I go down to the shore and look for the ships?”

She knew he missed his father as much as she missed her man. She knew he was anxious to see the sails in the horizon, grow bigger and bigger until you could hear them beat in the wind. Hear the men call out to each other. See his face again. He would wave from the ship, jump in the water and run to them as they waited by the shore.

“Yes you can but…” The word but made her son roll his eyes. “You have to bring your sister and Torbjörn with you.”

“Mor…” he started complaining. She reached out and took a handful of his hair in her hand. She didn’t pull hard enough for it to hurt but he knew that there was no point complaining anymore. She let go, smoothed the hair with her palm. “I can’t have Torbjörn around my feet all day, you know that.” He sighed deeply. “And,” she continued, “take one of the baskets and pick some blueberries on the way. Ask Marya for some bread to bring along.” The dog lifted his ears when he heard the name Marya. The dog was clever, knew where he could get food.

“Loki,” the boy said and the dog was instantly at his heels. Both of them took off running like before. Gudrun was  about to lean back against the wall once more when she remembered.

“Sune!” she called and the boy stopped. “Don’t let Torbjörn eat too many blueberries or sand.”

The boy and the dog disappeared around the corner of the house. The child inside of her kicked hard against her ribs. She had to put a hand on the foot and press. Please stay in there until Valdemar is home. Please. The only time she had giving birth without Valdemar at shore it had ended gravely. After Sune, the first one, she had given birth to a strong, angry girl less than a year later. The third one, a thorn still stung her heart when she thought about the third one.  The rain pounded the house that day. Everything was damp even though it was in the middle of the summer and the child did not want to come out. She pushed and pushed but no. Eventually the midwife had crawled in between her legs, put a hand inside of her and pulled the child out. Oh, this child. Transparent, red haired. No fierce cry. Only a whimper.

She had put this child to her breast, weakly she suckled and then she fell asleep. The midwife said to keep the child close, let the child rest. She wasn’t sure when she realized that this life would never last. She stroked her breasts, forced small of drops of her milk into the child’s mouth. Five days later the rain stopped. A rainbow grew across the sky when the sun broke through the clouds. The child lay in her arms, more transparent than before. Eyes closed and she simply stopped breathing.

When Valdemar came home Gudrun lay in bed with her face against the wall. Didn’t speak. Didn’t eat. Didn’t tend to her children. He tried to talk to her but she didn’t respond. She laid, in a state of neither sleep nor wakefulness. Until one morning, she felt someone crawl over her and Sune pressed himself in between the wall and her body. He strung his arms around her neck and placed his head under her chin.  His breath against her skin. He lay still and quiet for a long time.

“Mor,” he whispered, “I don’t like Marya’s porridge. Can you make me some?”

She opened her eyes, looked down at his golden head, put her nose on his hair and breathed in. He smelled of the woods, of the fireplace and the sea.  He smelled like life.

When she felt stronger again she had walked across the forest, across the yielding grounds of the moor to her father. He had fallen into trance for her. Searched for the little transparent girl in the spirit worlds. When he came back he told her that the little girl was trapped. Held back by Gudrun’s love and yearning. Couldn’t move into Gimle. Stuck in between. All the little girl wanted was to be allowed to leave. She was never supposed to be here. Her father taught her a croon. A few words, a few lines, rhyming, easy to remember. Every time she thought of the little girl she would repeat the croon. Soon the words would take over the place in her mind and the girl would be set free. Her mind let go faster than her body and for years no child would stay long enough to be born. Until Torbjörn. Robust, howling, suckled until her nipples bled.

 

“Tova! Tova! Where are you?” Sune had the basket in one hand, the leather satchel with bread in the other and Torbjörn behind him toddling as fast as the short legs would let him. They had been searching for their sister everywhere. First down by the pigs, sometimes she went down there and talked to the pigs. Fed them leftovers and scratched them behind their ears. In the winter when it was time for slaughter and sacrifice she hid in the house. She could not stand to see the blood steaming in the cold air. He laughed at her, teased her, happy the fearless girl was scared of something.  Then he had walked to the horse corrals and even taken an extra turn around the beehives. He had sent Torbjörn in to the henhouse and the storehouse, Tova was nowhere to be seen. Finally he spotted her sitting on top of the root cellar in the shade under the old oak tree.

“Tova!” he screamed and she stood up, “We are going to pick blueberries and go down to the shore to look for the ship. And Mor said you had to come.”

The girl ran down the side of the root cellar, her braids bounced on her back. She grabbed the basket as she ran by him.  Loki yelped out of excitement and ran after her. Sune started to run but Torbjörn let out a howl and he had to slow down to let the little boy catch up.

The tall pine trees gave enough shade to make the forest pleasant compared to the bright sunshine. The pine needles had turned the trail into a copper snake; it slithered around the blueberry bushes. The bushes were  covered in big, dark blue, almost black berries. Tova was already picking  and dropping the berries into the basket. The dog lay on the trail with tiny forest flies all around his warm body.

“Don’t eat too many blueberries,” Sune said to Torbjörn. “Not good for your stomach.” He poked the little boy in his round, soft belly.

His fingers got red from the berries and they had attracted the mosquitoes. He watched one land on his arm, pierce his skin with its trunk and drink his blood.  The back part of the body grew, turned from grey to brilliant red.  He started to get tired of picking. He wanted to go down to the shore, look at the horizon and search for the first sign of the ships. The dog could sense his restlessness, walked around him with his tail wagging. Egging him on.

“Let’s go down to the shore,” he said and started to walk down the trail. Tova didn’t stop picking, when she had started she could keep going forever. Her eyes got glazed over and she didn’t seem to hear or notice anything.

“Tova,” he raised his voice and the girl lifted her head. “I am going down to the water.”

Torbjörn with a reddish blue circle around his mouth started to walk after him but Sune started to run.

“Une! Une!” the little boy screamed, but he pretended not to hear.

 

He came down to the shore and the dog ran straight out in the calm, warm summer water. Sune sat down on the rocks and put his feet in.  Loki came up and sat next to him, the water dripping from his long fur.

“Should we scare them?”

The dog’s tail started to pound the rock when he heard the anticipation in the boy’s voice.

The boy and the dog walked back on the trail again and hid behind a big moss covered stone. He held his arms around the dog and whispered in its ear.

“Soon, soon, when they come walking we jump out and scream. Soon, soon.”

Sune heard Tova’s voice long before he saw them. She was singing loud and clear in the forest.

“Bridges and stones. Bridges and timber. No one can cross. No one can cross. Till you tell me your beloved’s name. What is his name?”

The dog shivered in his arms.

“Soon,” he murmured. Torbjörn came first, tottered, fell and got up again. Tova carried the basket with the berries in one hand and the leather satchel with the bread in the other. He slowly released the grip around the dog’s body. Both of them jumped down on the trail. The dog barking and the boy shouting. Torbjörn sat down on his behind and started to cry terrified. Tova let out a high pitched scream, dropped the basket on the ground and the berries rolled out. Her face got red.

“Sune,” she growled. “You and your stupid dog. Look at the berries!”

Even though he was older she was taller and stronger than him. Her hand turned into a fist and she waved it at him.

“I will punch you in the face if you don’t pick them up.”

He was wise enough to take her threat seriously. A punch from her wouldn’t be as bad as his mother’s anger though. He sat down and started to pick up the berries and put them into the basket again, he sang softly  as he worked.

“Tova got scared. Tova got scared. Tova got scared.”

She smacked him on the back of his head and he stopped singing.

“Torbjörn and I will go down to the water. Come when you are done.”

 

Tova pulled the dress over her head and helped Torbjörn with his tunic. She took the small boy in her arms and walked into the sea. The water was soothing against her skin. She opened her hand and dropped a piece of bread, watched it slowly sink.

“Ran, Aegir and your daughter’s nine. Bring home my father in soon time.”

Morfar had taught her the croon last summer and every time she went down to the shore she recited it four times.  Torbjörn splashed with his chubby hand in the water.

”Ran, Ran,” he said and smiled.

“Yes, Ran will bring him home.”

 

After she had played with Torbjörn in the water she handed him over to Sune and she started to swim.  Dived down into the murkiness.  Touched the dark rockweed and the glowing light green seaweed. Came up when her lungs hurt. Swam to the cliff and climbed up. Squeezed her fingers and toes into crevices, she never fell. At the top she looked down at her brothers. Torbjörn and Loki had curled up on the grass and were sleeping. Sune looked up at her; she knew he wanted her to look out over the sea. See if she could spot the ships. She craned her neck, squinted, strained but had to shake her head to him. She backed up and ran to the edge and jumped. Flew through the air and landed in the water with a splash. Felt the bubbles around her body, heard them crack as she pushed her way up again.

Sune watched the bubbles,  waiting for her to resurface. The water scared him, the unknown down there. The seaweed that grabbed his leg. Morfar had said that the spirits would leave him be if he wasn’t scared. But he didn’t trust himself so he stayed on land. The water broke and Tova’s head showed up. Her light blonde hair was darker now when it was wet. She waved to him as she swam to the cliff again.

She climbed up again, craned her neck, squinted and strained. Something was out there on the horizon, a small dark line of something. She squinted some more, it wasn’t a trick of the eye. Something was out there. Was it Far and his ships? She couldn’t tell yet but she turned around and nodded to Sune. He jumped up excitedly and ran to the cliff. When Loki tried to follow he told the dog to stay with the sleeping Torbjörn.

He climbed up and joined his sister. She pointed to the spot on the horizon. He squinted and strained. The spot grew slowly, eventually turning into four spots. The spots took form into four ships.

“It is him!” Sune exclaimed and grabbed his sister’s hand. “It is him!”

Tova nodded and pressed his hand.

“We have to tell Mor.”

Gudrun leaned against the wall when the children came running from the woods. For the last few hours she couldn’t deny anymore that this child wanted to enter this world, sooner rather than later. Tova carried Torbjörn on her back and the dog bounced around them.

“We saw them! We saw them!” Sune shouted.

Her womb contracted hard and the pain shot down her legs.

“He is coming home,” she said and caressed her stomach. “Welcome to the world.”