Snowflakes fluttered down through the crisp summer morning air; they’d had quite the hot spell this year. Shallow snow crunched under Frosa’s boots, barely coming halfway to her knees as she hiked through the silent woods, melted slush dripping off the heavy pine branches. She’d even seen a patch of dirt in the village last week. Well, at least summer was half over. Soon, the wondrous flurries would return to cover the land in thick blankets of beautiful white, bringing a more reasonable temperature to kiss her skin with icy cool. She kept her hood down, letting her long, silky hair–black and shiny as obsidian–flow free behind her.

   But Frosa hadn’t come to these parts of the woods to solve the heat wave problem–much as she wished she could have. Word of a bjorkk causing trouble on the village outskirts near here had been what called her to action. That trouble ended today.

   A bow on her back, spear in her hand, and dagger at her side: that was all Frosa needed–she wouldn’t require her Fairylight Gifts to take down this beast. She’d helped kill one a couple years ago with her father and a few others from the village, but now she would face one alone. She’d been refused major missions before, stuck to easier, safer ones due to her age. Today was the day she proved herself capable of so much more.

   Frosa knelt to study the tracks she’d picked up. Prints belonging to clawed paws that could squash her head like a bug. Fresh too. The beast was near.

   A twig snapped behind. Frosa swiped back to knock the stalker off their feet and pressed the point of her spear to their throat.

   The little boy looked about to wet himself.

   “Hofin?” Frosa lowered her spear and pulled him to his feet, his still shaking knees struggling to hold him up. One year younger than her, though his scrawny figure–a head and a half shorter–made him look thrice that. For being in this part of the woods alone, he foolishly carried no weapon, but maybe he’d planned to protect himself with those way too many layers of coats. She’d barely recognized his face hiding under all those hoods like a turtle tucked in a furry shell. If she pushed him over, his puffed-up body would probably never stop rolling down the hill. “What are you doing here?”

   “I… I was out gathering snowberries for… for my mother, ja. I saw you and… thought I’d come say hi.”

   Frosa raised an eyebrow. “Were you… following me again?”

   “N– no!” Even in the shadows of his hoods, she saw his face glow like a red moon, starstruck pupils ogling her as they would some holy Ideal Child.

   Speaking of his eyes… “Hey. What happened there?”

   He turned away, pulling his layered hood down. “Nothing.”

   Frosa ripped the hoods off his head, revealing a patch of dark purple sagging beneath his swollen eyelid. “Gierkaf again?”

   Hofin’s silence said yes.

   “Really, you’ve got to start standing up to him and his thugs, ja.”

   “They took my sword. The one my father left behind. Said a wimp like me didn’t need it.” That explained why he had no weapon on him. “I’m sorry. I try, but I’m not a great fighter, or a good tracker, or an amazing Gifted One like you are.”

   Fairies, he was hopeless. “Just go home and tell the chieftain. He’ll take care of it, ja.”

   She continued along the trail, but the sloshing footsteps behind told her Hofin still followed. “Please. Can I come with you?”

   “I’m not going on a walk through the woods. I’m hunting that bjorkk that’s been tearing through our food supply.” Her voice dropped to an angry whisper. “And our people.”

   “What!? You can’t do that by yourself. It’s dangerous, ja.”

   “If you’re scared, you can go back.” Frosa continued forward.

   “W–wait!” Hofin’s footsteps made rapid crunches as he trotted through the snow to catch up.

   Frosa followed the tracks–Hofin tailing behind–and stopped when a snarling ripping sound broke through the snowy silence. “Wait.” Frosa held out her arm. Hofin collided with it and fell over. Wrapped in all those layers, he had a comically difficult time standing back up. Frosa put a finger to her lips and crouched. “Keep low and follow me.”

   She crept up the hill, following the sounds, and stopped below the top, keeping her stomach flat against the snow. Hofin walked up beside her (waddled was more like it). Frosa grabbed the front of his coat and yanked him to the ground. “Get down, buddle brain.”

   She peered over the crest of the hill and down into a small snow basin. The bjorkk lay at the bottom, feasting on a corpse. Hofin recoiled, nose wrinkling, hand going over his mouth to hold in his breakfast. Bones jutted out of the mass of raw, bloody meat, shining red on the ice. The corpse was too eaten to identify. The stench of death and waterlogged, bacteria-infested fur mixed to create an overbearing odor that, even from this distance, made Frosa’s face scrunch up in twisted disgust.

   The bjorkk was a massive bear of a creature with a hide of white fur thick enough to deflect most manmade weapons, and frosty eyes of soulless blue, the combination making it almost invisible in the snow. It tore into the corpse with teeth like knives, pulling out long strings of innards.

   “Stay here. Out of sight.”

   “I want to help.”

   Frosa slapped him on the back. “Good job, you’re manning up. But you’ll get yourself killed against that thing. Especially with you shaking like that, ja.”

   Hofin clenched his fists, trying to keep still. “It– it’s just cold, ja.”

   Yeah, right. This was the warmest year they’d had in decades. Frosa crested the hill and skated down the short slope, putting her in the basin with the creature. A near perfect bowl shape, almost like Nature had known she’d come and had formed an arena for her. Most of the ground here was solid ice, but that was an advantage if anything–with her skills, Frosa’s two legs were less likely to slip than the bjorkk’s four. Spear in hand, she stepped toward the creature as if crossing a paper-thin sheet of ice over a frozen lake. The bjorkk’s ghostly blue eyes rose enough to acknowledge her presence, but went straight back to eating, paying her no mind. It must’ve been satisfied with the meal it already had and not perceived a single teenage girl to be any threat. Frosa could use that to her advantage too.

   She wouldn’t lose this fight and die, that was certain. Worst-case scenario, she could take this thing down with her Gift, but she hadn’t sought this beast out simply to eliminate a village problem; she’d come to test herself. Frosa wasn’t an enchantress today. Today, she was a simple huntress, equipped only with her hand carved weapons.

   A step too close, and the beast growled–a rumble like a quake in the earth–putting a defensive paw over its kill, and baring its foul, pestilent, bloody teeth at her. Frosa stopped where she was, but the beast snarled its warning still.

   Frosa wrapped and unwrapped her gloved fingers around the wood of her spear and took a series of quick power breaths. With a terrible war yell, she charged. The bjorkk roared back and rose on hind legs Frosa couldn’t have wrapped her arms around. A thousand pounds of power and ferocity towering ten feet over her, bearing eight-inch claws.

   The beast swung, and Frosa fell on her back, sliding across the frozen ground between the bjorkk’s legs. She cut at its calf as she passed, but not enough to penetrate the thick fur.

   Frosa rolled onto her feet, and the mammoth bear turned to attack again. She stepped back to avoid the claws that would gut her like a fish and retaliated with a lunge that missed entirely. Frosa held the spear at length to keep the beast at bay, striking whenever she got the chance but never getting near enough to hit, as the beast’s own claw swipes motivated her to maintain a safe distance.

   Taking a risk, Frosa dashed forward and stabbed the bjorkk in the side of its tough hide. Not a killing blow, but enough to draw out a roar of pain that vibrated her skull. She ripped the spear free and stabbed again, but the bear swatted the weapon from her hands like a useless stick. Its next slash hit her in the side. Only its paw connected, and the claws missed tearing her open, but the force alone knocked the breath from her lungs, sending her spinning through the air and landing hard on the ice.

   The bjorkk reared to come down with a finishing move, and Frosa reached for her dagger, but knew it wouldn’t be enough against the weight of an avalanche falling over her. Damnit. Would she need to use her Gift? Frosa gathered sparkling blue fairylight in her other hand behind her back, when a snowball exploded against the side of the beast’s face, drawing its attention away.

   Toward Hofin.

   “Idiot! Get away!”

   But Hofin froze like a sculpture as the bjorkk dropped to all fours and careened toward him. The ground cracking and shaking with every rampaging footfall as it tore through the ice and snow. Shit.

   Protecting Hofin had nothing to do with defeating the bjorkk; she could use her Gift here. Fairylight existed everywhere in the air, all across the world. Frosa breathed, taking in the invigorating energy around her and mixing it with her inner fairylight. She thrusted her palm forward and a wave of snow rushed up from the ground, pushing Hofin away from the bjorkk. Frosa waved her arm and a ring of ice rose around the boy, sealing over him in a protective dome of ice.

   The bjorkk clawed and ripped at the shield, but Frosa had made the walls more than thick enough to keep Hofin safe, the foolish idiot.

   Back on her feet, Frosa aimed her bow and fired a shot into the bear’s shoulder to take back its attention. She nocked another arrow as it trampled in her direction with savage ferocity and aimed between its eyes, but nerves caused her to only graze the side of its face. Damnit, girl. C’mon! You’re a better shot than that!

   The bjorkk tried to tackle her, but in a swift move–getting the timing just right–Frosa grabbed it by the neck and flung herself onto its back. The bjorkk reared to buck her off, but Frosa dug her fingers into its fur, clinging on as it jerked her this way and that. She reached over the bear’s head, wrapped the body of her bow around its neck, and pulled, but it was like trying to strangle a mountain. Frosa wrestled for her dagger as the bjorkk stomped and kicked. She almost fell off at one moment but wrapped her legs around its shoulders just as she got her knife out. Hanging upside down, Frosa crunched her body up and plunged the cold stone blade up to the hilt in its throat.

   A tremendous roar throbbed at her eardrums. The bjorkk rose up and fell forward in a last desperate attempt to crush her. Frosa ripped out her knife and made one final plunge into the bjorkk’s skull before kicking off at the last second as the creature crashed into the ground, splitting a large, audible crack in the ice.

   Frosa hoped to hit a soft patch of snow, but hard frozen ground smacked her instead. Body aching, she groaned as she pushed herself into a sitting position. The bjorkk lay unmoving, inches away from her, crimson life fluid trickling from its neck and forehead in dark streams. A couple kicks to the face to ensure it was dead, and when it didn’t stir after five minutes, Frosa fell back to take a breather, watching the fractured blue sky through crisscrossed gaps in the branches.

   She punched the air. Ha! One dead adult bjorkk! Slain by the mighty Frosa of the Glācice Region! Sure to go down as one of the greatest warriors and hunters in village history.

   After ten minutes of glorious reveling, Frosa retrieved her weapons, twirling her spear triumphantly before remembering the round fortress of ice off to the side. With a wave of her arm, she melted the dome around Hofin, who still huddled in a cowering position. With the shield thawed away, his head jerked this way and that, like a panicked animal checking its surroundings for any hint of danger. His eyes stopped on the dead bear, then on Frosa standing tall and valiant before him. She held her spear out before her in a stance that she hoped looked triumphant and not like she was using it to support herself due to the aching bruise in her side. Hofin fumbled to his feet and rushed over, spluttering out, “Are you all right!?”

   The pain of standing erect as she was became too much, and she crippled to sit on the ground, clutching her ribs. At least none of them felt broken. Hofin gasped like a mom, but Frosa laughed–hard and boisterous. Nothing could shame her after such a victory. Her joy seemed to put Hofin at ease.

   “Mother Nature, that was amazing!” Hofin said. “You actually did it. You took that beast down all by yourself without using your Ice Manipulation!” He prattled on for several minutes about how cool she was and how she’d be a wonderful chieftain to make the current one proud. She enjoyed the praise, but only endured it for as long as it took to cut the bjorkk’s head free and stuff it in the sack she’d brought before telling him to shut up.

   “All right, all right, that’s enough. Let’s get this home, ja.”

   A cacophony of honks turned Frosa’s eyes to a small v formation of Glācician geese overhead. She set down the bagged head and took out her bow. “Village could use some bird meat as well, ja?” She aimed at the geese. Copious tree branches laced themselves between her and the birds, but without the stress of a high-tension fight, there was no better shot in the north. Frosa picked out a narrow gap in the trees and, in a rapid series of perfect shots, made use of all five remaining arrows, wasting none. A single goose remained, flying away to escape, but Frosa was out of arrows.

   Not a problem.

   With her Fairylight Gift of Ice Manipulation, one last arrow materialized out of glistening ice, and, despite the great distance, Frosa took down the final goose with another perfect shot through the trees–she could’ve fired the ice arrow straight from her fingertips but there was a certain satisfaction in using the bow.

   Only one goose landed on the ground–the trees caught the rest. But Frosa used her Ice Manipulation to shake the snow from the laden branches, and the geese came free with it. After gathering the kills, she tied them together in a string and tossed them to Hofin. “You carry those back.”

   He caught the bundle of birds with an “oof!” but fell over in doing so. “Whaaat?”

   “You want to be stronger, ja? You can start by working on those muscles.”

   Hofin struggled to his feet with a whiny groan and struggled more to keep his balance with the big feathery sheaf. “Do I have to carry all of them? They’re heavy, ja.”

   Frosa gave him a coy smile over her shoulder. “Come on, Hofi. You can be a gentleman and carry that heavy load for me, can’t you?”

   All at once, Hofin bucked up and flung the birds over his back with gusto, rushing ahead to impress her. Frosa smiled; way too easy.

 

***

 

Four hooligans loitered on the outskirts of the village, giving off the impression of sentry guards despite the careless way they guffawed and threw punches at each other to test their own toughness. Such bulky boys could’ve been mistaken for young adults, but in their small village, everybody knew everybody; these jackasses were only a year or two Frosa’s seniors. She recognized the biggest of them as Gierkaf. While the rest of the malingerers laughed stupidly, Gierkaf leaned against a tree in that dumb bad boy pose used by people who thought themselves cooler than they actually were. Tall, well-built, and a face way too dashing for his own good, he wore the same usual frown like someone had spat in his boot that morning. Someone must’ve spat in his boot every morning then.

   The four boys took turns messing around with an antique sword, chipped in the stone blade, carvings on the wood handle mostly worn away with age, though she still made out the family name “Terkik” etched there. A sword Frosa recognized. Gierkaf seemed to be genuinely testing and getting a feel for the weapon, trying out stances and forms, while the other three played with it like a gang of street thugs, carelessly whacking it against trees and bushes.

   Frosa looked at Hofin beside her who kept back like a frightened guppy against four sharks. “It’s okay,” he said.

   “No. It’s not.” She moved toward the group, ignoring Hofin’s calls not to.

   A boy nudged Gierkaf as Frosa approached and he turned to meet her. “Well, look who it is. Finally come to join the adults, ja?”

   “You have something of my friend’s.”

   Gierkaf flipped the sword in his hand, eyes moving past Frosa to Hofin a safe distance away. “What’s this? Getting a girl to fight your battles for you? Just when I thought you couldn’t get any more pathetic, Hofin, you come back cowering behind the village’s only enchantress.” He turned to address Frosa. “I’ll never understand why you choose to hang out with such a pansy.”

   “That sword is Hofin’s. Give it back.”

   “The village is preparing for a crucial hunting mission to gather food for winter. A sword’s not ideal–certainly not this worn piece of junk–but we need every tool we can get, ja. Besides, it’s not like String Bean over there has any clue how to use it.”

   “That sword belonged to Hofin’s late father. It’s precious to him.”

   “We have more important things in this village than sentimentality, ja. You of all people should know that. Instead, you settle for lowly responsibilities the council tolerates you to handle and shame yourself as Pipsqueak’s girlfriend. Perhaps you’re not as capable as you’d have everyone believe?”

   “Hofin is just a good friend! And for your information, I took care of the village’s bjorkk problem this morning.” She tossed the bag between them, and it fell open enough to reveal the bjorkk’s severed head.”

   Even at that, Gierkaf’s stone expression went unchanged. “What, you find a dead one?”

   Frosa clenched her jaw, baring her teeth.

   “Hmph. You think you’re so special being a Gifted One. I suppose killing a bjorkk is easy when you have Ice Manipulation.”

   “I took this beast down with nothing but the weapons you see on me, ja.” Frosa slapped at the bloody dagger at her side. “Now give back Hofin’s sword, unless you want to see first-hand the skills that slew this monster.” She put her foot on the bjorkk’s head, pressing what remained of its face into the ground to show her dominance.

   Gierkaf continuously flipped the sword in his hand. “Hmm. I suppose I might consider it. If you apologize for your rudeness.” For the first time, his hard frown twisted into a slight sneer. “And… perhaps do a favor for me in return.”

   The three boys snickered, making catcalls and insinuating gestures.

   Frosa brought her knee up hard between his legs. With a pathetic whimper, he collapsed, curling inward like a pill bug. Hofin gasped behind her. “Boss!” the boys cried.

   Gierkaf’s whimpering turned to a snarling scowl. “Get her!”

   Three older boys against one girl. Not great odds, but Frosa had nothing to prove here and, thus, nothing against using her Gifts. As they came at her, Frosa shifted her foot, solidifying ice around the first boy’s feet, freezing him stuck to the ground. He lurched forward, face-first into the snow. For the second one, she pushed with her hand, burying him in a wave of white.

   “Look out!” Hofin cried.

   The third boy almost reached her, but she leaned away from the punch he threw to her face and thrusted with two fingers, jabbing him in the chest with icy-blue fairylight. Not enough to freeze him solid, but he crumpled to a huddled position, shivering with a violence that could’ve been mistaken for a seizure.

   With the three down, Gierkaf returned to an upright stance and came at her, but his knees remained weak from the blow she’d delivered earlier, which significantly reduced his threat level. It was a wonder he could stand at all. She jabbed him in the eye with her fingers, elbowed him in the gut, and, when he doubled over, brought both fists down on his back, putting him down. Not her cleanest fight, but she didn’t think a group of thugs who stole from her friend had earned an honorable duel.

   Ignoring the groans around her, she retrieved Hofin’s sword and returned it to him. “Thanks,” he mumbled. “You didn’t have to do that.”

   Frosa slapped him on the back. He almost fell over. “A future chieftain isn’t afraid of a few thugs.”

   “Y– you’re… amazing.” He kept his head down, face shining red under his hoods.

   “Let’s head back, ja.”

   As Frosa picked up the bagged bjorkk head off the ground, Gierkaf cursed from behind. “You dirty fighting coward!” Frosa stopped, white knuckles tightening on her spear. “You think you’re hot shit! But everyone hears the village talking. No one thinks you deserve the title of chieftain! You’re just a reckless thrill seeker who only sticks up for pansies like Hofin because you think it makes you look good!”

   Frosa snapped back around, but Hofin caught her arm. “Stop! Let it go!”

   She held herself back, despite the itch in her legs egging her forward, but glared at Gierkaf as the three recovering boys helped him up and all limped away, feeling she might shoot heat vision from her eyes. That’s right, she thought. For all the shit you talk, run away with your tail between your legs.

   Everyone. Everywhere. No matter what she did, it was always the same condescending down talk. Well, she’d show them. Once she was chieftain, she’d show them all how deserving she was.

   The tension in her muscles ebbed and Frosa lowered her spear, unsure of when she’d ever raised it, as if itching for another fight. “All right. Let’s go.” She almost ran into the man standing behind.

   Councilman Ocen glared down at them, arms crossed, narrow eyes scolding her. Great. The bjorkk might not be the worst thing she faced today.

 

***

 

Chieftain Korruk Sjarter’s office window looked out over the village: a conglomerate of tipis all pointing to the sky, columns of smoke rising from the occasional peak, drifting up to dissipate in the burning sun. What a scorching summer they’d had. Two days this last week the temperature had risen above freezing. A few lodges stood out amid the tipis, reserved for important facilities, but none postured themselves with the same pride and grandeur as the council headquarters, where Korruk gazed out the top-floor window stretching from wall to wall as Councilman Ocen relayed his story behind him while the young ones waited outside.

   “Are the boys all right?” Korruk asked.

   “They’ll be fine, but it’s more than that.”

   “I’ll talk with her.”

   “Sir, she’s a problem.”

   “Not this again.”

   “She’s selfish, egotistical, and has no respect for authority. She disappears all morning and I suddenly find her beating up one of the village’s most promising young hunters! Such qualities do not make a good leader.”

   “Hmm.”

   “It’s not just me. Plenty of the villagers have come forth with concerns over her being the next chieftain. The girl’s talented, I admit, but she doesn’t have your inspiring charisma. She’s not the type who would throw her pride away for the people’s sake. She’ll never achieve the level of admiration you’ve earned.” Korruk could almost hear Ocen rubbing his eyes. “The other councilmen and I have been discussing. Perhaps Thorān would be a better suited choice as your successor. He’s one of our best hunters, knows the workings of the village inside and out, and is a team player like none I’ve ever seen.”

   “He’s also scatterbrained, indecisive, and lacks the ability to make tough decisions. Thorān’s an invaluable hunter, and as a team player, yes, he’s brought us many successes. But of the missions we’ve charged him with, he’s failed nearly every one.” Korruk turned to address the councilman. “Ocen, do you know why I chose Frosa as my successor when she was still only ten?”

   “Nepotism.” Ocen spoke as though it couldn’t be more obvious, then his serious look melted to regret. “Forgive me, sir. I was out of line.”

   Korruk squinted at him, but didn’t make a fuss. “No. It was nothing of the sort. Frosa has come with us on many outings over the years.”

   “And has consistently refused and disobeyed the orders of her superiors, arrogantly believing she had better ideas.”

   “Indeed. But this village is full of proud hotshots. We’ve dealt with insubordination before. That’s not the real reason for your frustration, is it? Answer me this: in how many of those instances did Frosa end up being right?”

   Ocen clenched his teeth, head snapping to the side with a humph.

   “And in a couple of situations, I believe she even saved a few lives going against dangerous plans no one else saw the flaw in. No one knows Frosa better than I. Yes. She’s stubborn, insubordinate, cocky, and reckless. But she’s got a clever head on her shoulders; sees things others don’t. And while she may be selfish at times, when push comes to shove, she’s got a heart she doesn’t normally show and will surprise you at how quick she is to put others first.”

   Korruk pulled out the chair at his desk and took a seat, elbows on the table and lacing his fingers under his chin. “I’m not blind to her faults. I plan to take her to the Temple of Chieftains tomorrow.”

   Ocen looked like he’d surely misheard. “Sir, you can’t be serious. She’s not ready. She’ll fail.”

   “I wouldn’t take her there if I had any doubts she’d succeed.”

   The councilman took a deep breath to keep himself calm, as though talking to an impatient child. “Sir, that’s easy for you to say.”

   “You don’t have to trust Frosa, Ocen. Trust in me, as you always have. Trust that I know what I’m doing.”

   Ocen made a hesitant face, but nodded.

   “Good. Now, those kids have been sitting out there long enough. Do me a favor and take Hofin home. And send Frosa in.”

   “Yes, sir.”

   Frosa swaggered in laden in all her favorite weapons and carrying a leather sack stained red with blood on the bottom, dripping a spotted trail across the floor that she paid no mind to. She wore that typical cocky smile of a teenager who’d gotten away with something stupid. He’d just spent the last few minutes defending her, but now it was time to switch to parenting mode. “Where have you been all day?”

   “See for yourself.” Frosa heaved the dirty bag onto his well-polished office desk, and a putrid stink spilled out from within as the severed head of a bjorkk rolled across the wood, stopping to stare at him with dead eyes and getting blood all over his nice table.

   Korruk slapped his hands down and lurched to his feet. He’d planned to scold her for the fight she’d started, but–assuming the bjorkk head meant what he thought it did–this made that look like she’d merely misplaced her boots. And he could see Frosa doing something so foolish. He tried to say several things at once, but every word caught in his throat.

   But Frosa just kept her head held high. “That bjorkk won’t be troubling us anymore, ja.”

   “Did you sneak off this morning, looking to fight a bjorkk!?”

   “You said there was one hanging out in the woods near the village, threatening the safety of our people. I took care of it for you!”

   “Have you any idea how dangerous these creatures are!? And you even dragged Hofin into it!?”

   Frosa gave an indignant scoff, as if she’d expected him to praise her for her stupidity. “I didn’t take him, ja. He followed me, as he always does. And so what? You were only a year older than me when you did the same!”

   “I went on a planned hunting trip as my initiation trial for becoming chieftain. I had two partners to back me up if things went wrong, and ten others prepared and waiting on the sidelines beyond that!” He dragged a palm down his face, as if to pull his stress away. “For fairies’ sake, Frosa, you’re a skilled enchantress, but your Ice Manipulation doesn’t make you invincible.”

   “Pfft. Who said anything about needing that? I slew this thing with nothing more than the weapons on my back.”

   “You…” Korruk tried to find the words to describe the utter idiocy of Frosa refusing to use her greatest weapon against so dangerous a beast, but nothing came out. His entire body tensed, heat flooding him from head to toe, making him feel like a volcano ready to explode at any minute. “Are you out of your mind!? What were you trying to prove!?”

   “Well, what do you want from me!? You’ve heard them! None of the other council members treat me with any respect, and the entire village acts like I only got picked as future chieftain because I’m Daddy’s little girl! To doubt me is to doubt you and the choice you made!”

   “If you want to earn the village’s respect, you won’t do it with stunts like this! You could’ve been killed!”

   “But I wasn’t. You’re always telling me to challenge myself and better my skills.”

   “I’ve also told you that doesn’t mean throwing yourself in a basilisk pit and calling it bravery! You think I want to be the one mounting my daughter’s soulflame on a torch?”

   “We live in the fucking Glācice Region. Our very existence here is a risk.”

   “That’s not an excuse to go actively making it worse! And don’t you talk to me that way!”

   Frosa shook, silenced by her own rage, white face going red. Without being dismissed, she slammed the door behind her, rattling the many tribal artifacts hanging from the walls. A clay pot fell and shattered on the wood floor. Korruk said nothing to stop her and collapsed in his chair, head craned back, and pinched the bridge of his nose. What was he going to do with her? Frosa had talent and potential like he’d never seen. Why did she always have to go kicking the nest?

 

***

 

Frosa wished their tipi had a door for her to slam. She flung the sacked head aside and threw herself down on the pile of furs that was her bed.

   She’d single-handedly taken down a bjorkk. A healthy, good-sized one at that. How many kids her age could say they’d done that? Over the last century or two, you could count them on one hand. And her dad acted like he didn’t care. No matter how hard she tried, nothing she did was ever good enough for anyone!

   A small, single-row shelf of eight books sat at her bedside, all showing signs of having been read multiple times. Of the mostly hunting texts, Frosa grabbed the one on foreign religions and flipped through it. She’d always had a mild fascination with the religious beliefs of other dimensions, but couldn’t focus through her frustration and chucked the book across the room, pages whipping loud in the air as it flopped to the ground.

   After an hour of sulking on her bed, her dad pushed through the tent flap, entering with a catlike silence. “Frosa? You in here?” His gentle tone was a sharp contrast to his earlier austerity. Frosa rolled over to face the tipi wall.

   His footsteps made soft sounds across the carpet as he crossed the room to kneel beside her, putting a hand on her shoulder. “Hey. You’re not hurt, are you? You did fight a bjorkk.”

   “I’m fine. Just a slight bruise on my side.” She rubbed the spot where the bear had swiped her aside, which still ached like it had the whole weight of the beast on it.

   “Good. I’m sorry I yelled at you. Hofin told me you fought those boys to get his family heirloom back.” He sighed when Frosa didn’t answer. “I know I’m hard on you, and you feel I don’t have as much faith in you as I should, but I never would’ve chosen you if I had any doubts in your abilities to be chieftain. And that’s why I’m tough on you. Because I don’t like seeing you risk throwing that potential away in pursuit of some misguided idea of what true strength is. And… and you’re all I have left.”

   His shadow on the wall picked up the portrait next to her bed. “I try my best, but I know there’s only so much I can do. Especially with chieftain duties to keep me busy.” He eyed the portrait for several minutes. “I only wish… your mother was here.”

   “So you wish I’d never been born?”

   “Of course not. Why do you say that?”

   “It was my birth, wasn’t it? That’s what everyone says. I’m the one that killed her.”

   He set the picture down. “Don’t ever say that. Don’t even think it. I love you more than anything. Even before you were born, your mother spent the whole nine months going on and on about how much she loved you before she’d even met you. She would never want you feeling guilty for being born. I’m sure it’s been hardest for you, having never known her. Our family has had a lot of bad luck. We’re all that’s left. You, me, and your grandfather.”

   “You mean the guy who bailed thirteen years ago?”

   “Perhaps we could find a chance to visit him sometime.”

   “Fuck no. He can come up here, ja. You’ll never catch me down in some muggy hell hole.”

   “Well, if you’re feeling up to it, there is somewhere I’d like to take you tomorrow. A special place all chieftains visit one day. I think you’re ready to see it.”

   Special place? For chieftains? A mild interest made her look back enough to watch him out of the corner of her eye, waiting for details, but he said nothing more.

   “But for now…,” He crossed the room and picked up the bjorkk head–which had rolled out of the bag. He eyed it for a moment, then stuffed it back into the sack and threw it over his shoulder. Frosa caught a glimpse of a proud expression as he walked toward the exit. “Come on. A kill like this deserves to be mounted for the whole village to see, ja?”

   Frosa sprang from her bed, trotting after him at a giddy pace.