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Prince Erik, The Woodsman
The first winter in the mountains was a bitter teacher. Prince Erik of Hrafnnes, aged ten, stood knee-deep in a drift of snow so pure it hurt his eyes, his small fingers too numb to properly work the knots in the rabbit snares Sigurd had shown him. The old forester’s voice, when it came, was not unkind, but it was as immutable as the granite peaks around them. “The cold does not care that you are a prince, boy. It only cares that you are slow.” Erik’s lips were chapped, his stomach a hollow, aching thing. He had missed the evening’s catch. Supper had been a husk of tough bark-bread…
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Principe Erik, El Cazador
El primer invierno en las montañas fue una dura lección. El príncipe Erik de Hrafnnes, de diez años, estaba hundido hasta las rodillas en un montón de nieve tan pura que le dolía la vista; sus deditos estaban demasiado entumecidos para deshacer los nudos de las trampas para conejos que Sigurd le había mostrado. La voz del viejo guardabosques, cuando llegó, no fue cruel, pero fue tan inmutable como los picos de granito que los rodeaban. «Al frío no le importa que seas príncipe, muchacho. Solo le importa que seas lento». Erik tenía los labios agrietados y el estómago vacío y dolorido. Se había perdido la pesca de la noche.…
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Prince Erik, The Farmer
After the Ausa Vanti— the day when Prince Erik was accepted into the kingdom, he was taken from the palace and given to two simple farmers who lived on the very edge of the kingdom’s wilds. Leifr and Gunnhildr were not a noble line. Their hands were callused from the earth, their faces weather worn by endless seasons of wind and rain. They owned a modest homestead, a low thatched hall, and two children— Ragna, a bright eyed girl of three summers, and Steinn, a lanky boy who could already lift a sack of barley over his shoulder. When the royal carriage rolled into their yard, the children stared at…
