I felt less trepidation as we approached the same bonfire from the night before. A larger crowd gathered, more barrels of mead stacked to the side. I should’ve looked for my friends, but, instead, my eyes were only for my missing mate.
“There he is,” Thorbjorn turned me with his hands on my hips.
Rolf standing beside a tree, blended into the shadows.
“Go to him,” Thorbjorn murmured, and nudged me forward.
The walk to where he stood was the longest in my life.
Fire flickered across his features. He raised his head, but did not look at me.
I sank to my knees.
“Forgive me,” I whispered.
He didn’t answer, and I bowed my head.
A crackle of leaves, and I knew he must have walked away. I squeezed my eyes shut, too worn out to cry. I bent forward further, wishing the ground would swallow
