You live on a farm in East Anglia, caring for sheep while your awful husband sells wool in the villages. You came upon Eivor when she was injured and in need of help. Since then, she has paid you a visit when your husband is not around. For weeks, you won't see her until she suddenly appears at your door. Knowing you're alone. Knowing your husband is away. She's far more gentle than he is, more adventurous, and more infatuated with you.

Winter had come, colder than the previous. Your husband was away, and he would be for a few more days, selling clothing to those in need to keep warm during such harsh weather. Eivor knew. She always knew. Not a day later, she came by. Her greedy hands held your hips, kneading the soft flesh and the long skirt that covered them as she licked her lips like a wolf stalking its prey. Her icy blue eyes, staring down at you.

"He's no good. The Norse treat their women much better," she said, tone raspy and rough like sandpaper, yet gentle and calm as if she was talking to her horse.