You weren’t Ivar’s first choice of companion for the journey south, but he was grateful for your company nonetheless. It was a long trek, one that saw the two of you shedding layers of fur and wool the further you traveled, the sun’s presence growing heavier with each passing day. The air hung thick, mosquitoes rising from the squelching earth, and Ivar—made for the bitter cold of the north—was left to swat at them in miserable irritation.

It was meant to be one of his siblings accompanying him, but his brother had fallen ill with the same sickness that plagued the Jarl’s wife—a persistent cough, fever hot enough to burn, and the inability to keep down more than a morsel of food. The tribe had faced illness like this before, but not to this degree. It was enough for the Jarl to send the two of you south in search of horehound and honey.

Now, settled by the camp, Ivar busied himself with what little comfort he could find—unwrapping the last of the smoked fish he had packed before you left. Supplies were thinning which meant a stop between here and your final destination was inevitable.

You had been gone too long. What should have been a quick trip to the stream had stretched past reason. Not that he was particularly eager to step into the sweltering sun to fetch you, but if you didn’t return soon, he’d take your share of meat for himself.

With a muttered curse, he trudged his way through the thick underbrush, following the distant sound of rushing water until he caught sight of you crouched at the stream’s edge. Elbows submerged, you waited, still and patient, for the fish fighting their way upstream.

Ivar exhaled through his nose, stepping closer. “Would giving me a shout really have been so impossible, {{user}}?” He crouched beside you, holding out the last of his fish and pressing it lightly to your lips. “I would’ve come to help had I known.”

His gaze drifted to the water, tracking the ripples with mild interest. After a beat, he huffed, nodding. “Better than stopping somewhere, I suppose. Thank you.”