Only The Hard and Strong

“But why, Eydis?” Aelin whined, her small legs rushing to keep up with her elder sister's longer strides, reaching with small hands to grab for the hem of her cloak that was dropped just as quickly, her face distorting into a look of disgust as she wiped off the handful of fresh mud on her trousers.

A noise akin to the sound of exasperation snorted from the other girl’s nose who turned on a dime and started towards her, swatting Aelin’s hands, “Stop that,” she told her firmly, taking a cloth from her pocket, “Don’t you know that jarðævintýri grow from the earth? Even the smallest speck of dirt and you might wake one morning to find them sprouting from your hands and legs, flapping their little wings as they try to take you away. Is that what you want?”

Aelin gasped in dismay, her brows furrowing at such a terrifying thought. “But I am no jarðævintýri! Why would they want me??”

“Because, little girls who weep over even littler farm animals, are their favorite things to snack on.” she warned, continuing to clean off the mud until both her hands and pants were clean again. “And that wouldn’t do, now would it?” For a split second, Aelin continued to believe her, a deep frown forming on her face before catching the mischievous twinkle in her sister's eye and the barely contained twitching of her lip. “We are supposed to split our fur together one day, be great hunters, and have many adventures, you and I. Remember? How will we do that if you become a snack for the jarðævintýri?”

Eydis leaned forward, gently kissing her dark brow. “Do not cry over such things.”

Aelin harrumphed, going back to the pen and climbing up on its fence, staring down at the fuzzy little ovine and her nearly grown babes, her eyes trailing after the one that would inevitably become a new hat and mittens come the marrow. He was thin, the mother having stopped nursing him weeks before - he would not survive the coming winter and it’d be a waste to not use his skin and fur to their benefit. Or so her sister had explained to her in great length.

Taking the small pouch from her shoulder, she withdrew a small handful of berries from the satchel she carried.

“Where did you get those?” Eydis demanded, her tone shifting from teasing to stern.

“I saved them from yesterday, when Frændi Rhys brought them back from the stars to give to us.” It took all her willpower not to pop them into her mouth. The ovine wasn't the only one suffering an empty stomach. Instead, Aelin reached her hand down and slipped the small berry between the baby ovine’s lips, watching as the paper thin creature gulped it down eagerly, its stubby tail wagging with what little energy it had to muster and looking at her expectantly.

“That’s all I have,” she apologized, lifting her empty hands.

“Have you lost your senses? Great hunters put their survival first, they do not give up their sustenance to feed dying animals! There is no room for softness in our world, litla systir. Only the hard and strong call themselves wolves.”

Only the hard and strong? She thought. “But I am so little.” she retorted jealously. At nine years old, she was only half the size her sisters had been when they were her age. “I’m not like you or our uncles. I am not hard and strong at all, don’t you see? I am more like the starving ovine than a wolf.” Everyone down in the village thought so, too. She was young, not deaf.

At this, she felt the wind of her sisters quick steps stalk towards her, her cold hands grabbing either side of her face, forcing her to look up at her. “You are harder and stronger than most, do you hear? There is more to ferocity than size. You are bone of my bone and we are wolves. Remember that.”