***
Baraide watched her husband limp to his chair near the hearth, waiting until he was settled before she offered him a warm mug of acorn tea. Despite his injuries that she'd redressed the night before, Halivik made no complaints. He never did, being self-reliant and proud.
The wounds, while healing quite well, would stay with him. He would not again be able to hunt as he pleased. She knew it was one of the things he wanted to talk to her about. As for the other subject on his mind, she had no idea.
"Where are the children?" Halivik asked after taking a sip of his drink.
"Tull is out back of the property, gathering sap and firewood," Baraide answered airily as she sat on a footstool near him. "Sten is curing the boar hide. He'll be thinning the rabbit hutch right after; I reminded him to keep the lye bucket further out near the tanning shed this time." She picked up her husband's recently cleaned caribou coat, holding it up to appraise the holes and rips. "And Iri is pulling some vegetables from the garden and gathering apples after."
"Ah, good," he grunted.
Baraide looked around the coat at her husband. "By the old gods, Hal - look at this coat! I might need the scraps of deer skin to patch this."
"I told you the wood curs were unexpected," he said defensively. "They rarely roam that far north. I'd wager a wolf pack pushed them out."
"And your leggings aren't much better off." Checking the torn and stained garment, Baraide shivered at the evidence of what Halivik endured. In the past, she'd made various repairs to her husband's clothing - and sometimes flesh - but she'd never seen such damage before.
"This isn't what I wanted to talk with you about," he grumbled.
"I know your concerns already," she said nonchalantly to counter his stern manner. "We can get along easily with bartering rabbit and beaver goods. I heard from Myalla that a trader out of Troven told her that rabbit will be back in winter fashion with ladies of court. Imagine that - one of your coats or stoles being worn by some noble's wife in Vallo."
"I'm sure Vallo has its own share of huntsmen to gather furs for its ladies," Halivik replied with a frown. "And I'd doubt nobles from the capital will want goods from a village they've most likely never even heard of."
"One never knows," Baraide mused while turning the coat inside out. "It could be novel." She glanced over to her husband. "And don't forget, fang or claw jewelry is always in some demand. You have sacks of it out in the gut shack. I daresay you could have every soldier in Kaldevarr proudly donning some sort of bone necklace with the supply you've gathered over the years."
Halivik gently set his mug on a small table next to his chair with his right hand - his off-hand. After straightening with a flinch, he looked at his wife and said, "Thank you for seeing the best in things, my flower. But on the other hand..." He looked down at his left hand, trying to make a fist with it. "Hah," he chuckled ruefully, "on the other hand." He turned his eyes back to her. "You look for the good in any event, but what good is there in me now? I am - I was - a hunter. That is how I've provided for you, for all of us. When the worth of rabbit fur drops, when people tire of bone trinkets, what will I do then?"
"We can easily get along selling those for at least eight or nine seasons, probably more." She could immediately tell that those words didn't ease his worry. "Hal, your best skills have always been tanning, stitching and tooling. You're a good hunter, but what you can make with hides is truly impressive and much better than my skill in it. Even folks from both Huuvik and Raudeen come here when they want quality. You know that."
One side of Halivik's mouth curled into a grin at her compliment, even with his dour mood. "Oh, I don't know," he drawled. "I think the men come rather to gaze at your shiny black hair and big blue eyes. Buying leather and fur is just an excuse to linger."
"You're probably right," Baraide said as she met his gaze. They held their stares until both smiled wide and chuckled. She then noticed that his good mood faded as quickly as it came.
"I doubt I can hunt again," he said softly, shifting his dark eyes toward the unlit fireplace. "Not like I could a few days ago, not like how I hoped to keep doing. I could keep teaching the boys what I know, I suppose, but I suspect I can't make long hunts alone anymore. I'm nearly thirty cycles along now, Bara... not that I keep close track. Half of my life is gone, and now this." He paused with a sigh. "Old Dorbik no longer hunts; he just tends to his crops now because of his wounds, which were less than mine are. He always looks so sad."
Baraide held the garments on her lap and looked at her husband with a sour expression. "Old Dorbik is foolish. You've said so yourself. He was drunk and fell off his hauling ox. Dorbik is sad because his wife only allows him to visit the inn sparingly now." She leaned forward to rest a hand on his knee. "I can see the question in your eyes, my love. The answer is no; I will never think less of you for your injuries. I will never doubt your manhood because you can no longer spear a deer. You will always be my fetching, rugged man and the best father to our children I could hope for."
Halivik placed his hand over hers. "I think you know me too well."
"After all this time, I should hope so. But you need to face some facts. Tullgar will not follow in your footsteps. He is a sweet boy and already as strong as an ox, but he isn't a clever one. His thoughts aren't quick enough, nor are his senses sharp enough, to be out in the Cragwood. It is Stenhelt who takes after you. Didn't you say not long ago that he already has better instincts and skill than anyone else in these parts who thinks himself a woodsman?"
Halivik nodded. "The boy is a natural in the wild. I know Sten isn't as quick with his lessons as some of the other children, but he can spot a faint trail at dusk, and more often than not can spear a rabbit on the run. And the way he went after those wood curs..." He gave his wife's small hand a squeeze. "Baraide, they would have been the end of me, if not for Stenhelt."
"And whichever gods blessed us with Sten, I'm thankful," she replied with a soft smile. "But don't you go expecting too much of him now. He's only a boy, however great his heart is. He still needs your guidance, Hal. There is still so much he needs to learn from you."
Halivik nodded. "At least for the things I know of my trade, Sten is an eager student."
"You can't give him all of your time, though, or hold him in higher regard than Iri or Tull. You may have more in common with Sten, but be fair; your other children need their father as well."
"Of course I will. I know Tull isn't all too bright, although he has a talent with carving respectable woodworks. His hands and eyes aren't trained enough yet for a good bow, but Sten and I use spears he made. I don't have the skill to show him more... I was thinking I could barter with Luddsel from the other end of the village. He used to be a soldier - worked in an armory, I think. He could give Tull more lessons."
"A fine idea," Baraide agreed.
"And little Irisella," Halivik went on with a warm grin. "She's not quite six winters old yet - who knows what she'll aim for later on. But for now, what a bundle of joy and energy, no?" Baraide nodded with her own grin. "And she looks so much like her mother," he added with a playful wink, "the whole village cheers up when they see her on market days. I'm always surprised with all the small cuts of food she's been handed after a morning in the square."
"She is a charmer, to be sure."
"In less than eight summers," he said with a sigh, "she'll have suitors lining up."
Baraide's smile fell a bit with another thought. "It'd be nice if the boys were as outgoing and talkative as Iri. I suppose because Tull is... well, simple, he tends to watch more and talk less. Do you think that because Sten is so often alone - checking traps or fishing or the like - that he has become shy? Or maybe the shyness was there first?"
"I think perhaps being shy and unnoticed might be good for the boy."
Baraide's shock left her momentarily speechless, although her mouth hung open as if waiting for words to fall out. As her brows furrowed, she hissed, "How could you hope for suc
h a thing?"
She saw her husband's head lower, his eyes unfocused. "We should go speak to your friend Tovira Krin," he stated without emotion. "I think Stenhelt is a Maker."