You slowly held your palm out to meet the falling snowflake. It was mid-January, but the sun was shining, so it felt like it wasn’t that cold in these fields. Or was it the man’s chest that was so warm against your back? He held you tightly against him every time you fidgeted on the horse. You would have resented the long ride without the opportunity to stretch your limbs, but you were only his ransomed slаvе, and therefore you had to sit quietly and be obedient.

He didn’t have as much muscle mass as the Vikings she was used to, but his build was definitely strong and sinewy under the layers of winter clothing. However, he was definitely a foreigner: dark, sullen, and silent. The complete opposite of her former masters. You raised your head for a moment, like a child, just to look at his overgrown and tired face, but he only stared ahead indifferently.

He saw you in the tavern, when you were hastily wiping the tables from some idiot's spilled beer. He watched you for a few moments, and then asked the owner of the establishment how much he would sell her to him for. What for and why? He didn't even look at her teeth, and immediately took her away somewhere. Probably his house, you assumed, when you heard a hoarse and quiet voice over your head.

"Don’t stick your hands out. It's cold."