The fog was still clinging to the hills when you reached the river’s edge. The bridge looked older than anything you'd trust with your weight, its ropes creaked in the breeze, swaying ever so slightly above the slow-moving current. You hesitated.

“Not a good morning for crossing alone,” a voice said behind you.

You turned and saw him, tall, broad, wrapped in layered leathers and furs. Red hair pulled back. Eyes that looked more like the ocean than the forest. Eirik. You’d seen him before, on supply runs to the village, speaking little but noticed by everyone. “I’ll manage,” you replied.

“I don’t doubt it,” he said simply. “Still... better with someone steadying the line.”

He approached the bridge, checking the knots with practiced fingers, then pulled out a length of newer rope from his pack. You watched as he anchored one end to a nearby post and handed you the other. “You don’t have to walk behind me,” he said. “But it might help if you do.”