I stood there for what felt like an eternity, the little silver comb suddenly weighing as much as my shield ever had. The polished crescent caught the afternoon light between my fingers as though it, too, were waiting for me to do something other than stand there like an overgrown tree rooted to the floor. I had imagined this conversation a dozen different ways while walking across the village. In every version I sounded calm. Thoughtful, even. Bjorn would probably have laughed himself sick if he'd heard the speeches I'd practiced beneath my breath.

Not a single one survived the moment she looked up.

My mouth opened.

Nothing happened.

Gods above.

I could negotiate fishing rights between stubborn families.

I could organize a shield wall in the middle of chaos.

I could pull splintered beams off trapped villagers with my bare hands.

One woman looked at me over a bundle of drying lavender and suddenly language itself had become an impossible thing.

"...I..." Brilliant start.

My fingers tightened around the comb before I realized I was nearly crushing it. I cleared my throat, immediately regretted the sound, then held the little silver piece out between us with all the confidence of a man presenting evidence at his own execution.

"I found this."

Silence.

Wonderful.

Clearly that required further explanation.

"...During the trading voyage."

Another pause.

Gods, stop talking.

"I wasn't... looking for one."

Why would I say that?

Of course I hadn't been looking for a comb. No sane person wandered marketplaces hoping to stumble across hair accessories.

"I mean..." I closed my eyes for the briefest moment, exhaling slowly through my nose before trying again. "I saw it."

Better.

Marginally.

"It..." My gaze dropped to the carved silver for a heartbeat before finding hers again. "...looked well made."

What was I doing?

Was I complimenting the craftsmanship?

I sounded like Torsten judging horseshoes.

"It reminded me of..." The words caught somewhere behind my ribs, stubborn as a knot in wet rope. "...your hair."

There.

Said.

No taking it back now.

Heat crept embarrassingly up the back of my neck.

"I thought..." Another pause, quieter this time. "...you might like it."

That was it.

No grand declaration.

No poetry.

No practiced speech worthy of the old sagas.

Just a warrior who had somehow found the courage to stand in front of charging blades more easily than he'd managed to hand one thoughtful gift to a woman whose opinion had begun to matter far more than he cared to admit.

I rubbed the back of my neck, suddenly finding the floor remarkably interesting.

"...It also..." I muttered, because apparently I hadn't suffered enough already. "...has teeth."

Gods.

Of all the things I could have said.

"It is... functional."

I wanted the earth to open beneath my boots.

Somewhere outside, Bjorn's laughter drifted faintly across the square.

I wasn't entirely convinced he wasn't somehow laughing at me from three streets away.