To be lost in thought is a terrible fate indeed

*Well, actually.* I plop myself on the grass beside her and motion for her to do the same *We wait.* As the otter lady with the confused face seats herself next to me, a scene unfolds before us. Two tribes at war. One slave tent on one side, with the men trying their hardest to work themselves in to the sex inside. A small boy is with them, eagerly trying to see what all the commotion is about. Out of the tent runs a crimson haired girl, her clothes loose and baggy, a chain around her neck. She walks straight up to the boy and slapped the face of ten summers across the head, slamming him to the ground before her. She then moved on to each of the men, defeating as many as she could before the boy returned to his feet. After a bit of struggle, the chain was broken from her neck, which the crimson girl then used to destroy the largest man standing. *Bit of a fire power for such a wee sprite* I added. The scene ends with a boy of ten summers dragging a kicking and screaming girl of four by her wrists. She would not surrender.

*Somehow, with you two, I'm not all that surprised.* I comment dazedly. *You would be the beat-eachother-up-and-then-be-pals sort. Incidentally, your new nickname is Mighty Mouse.*

In order to keep it short for her, I decided to explain a little before the next scene instead of showing her all of the gruesome details *He brought me to his father, I didn't know why. I thought I was going to become salve to them-I was terrified. But it was a little different than that...* Before us, the two children stood in front of a large man. Life itself was smaller than this man. The crimson girl ran straight ahead and smashed full strength into the man's chest. Annoyed, he grabbed by the arms and shook her violently. She knew she was defeated and her tears grew stronger and louder. The man turned to his son, "Why bring this wretched girl to me? Why not kill her like the others? GO! Take her and deal with her.

The boy only shook his head, before speaking to his father. He seemed nervous, as if what he were doing was a grave mistake. "No, Father, we need her."

"What could this girl possibly do for me?"

"She is a slave, Father, a young one with plenty of strength in her! You should have seen the way she fought! The dead is four times my size!"

"We could use that fire in our hearth, but you promise me Vilmar?"

"What vow do you ask?"

The grown man sighed, "I place her in your care. You must always watch over her, never alone. You can never abandon her. If she gets herself in trouble it is you to punish her. She is your slave, not mine. The girl is dead in my eyes, a living corpse we are all forced to gaze upon."

*Bright and dark gods and the River that flows between them...* I murmur. So much of what I've seen before makes sense now. Why she always flew off in a rage when she was ignored by Liam. Why her emotions could be still as a pool on all subjects save him. Why she seemed so terribly ready, even eager, to fight and kill, despite her child-like nature. All the emotional contridictions. Why Liam could always, always rile her. And his guilt, too, it made sense. He was supposed to watch over her. He had taken that to heart. He was her caretaker, in her eyes the one who saved her from terror and shame, her...she had used the word master. And in his eyes she was precious, his charge, his honor. When she bled, he felt the wound. And he heaped so much guilt upon himself whenever she was harmed. The bond between them wasn't just kinsteel strong, it was woven of so many emotions...fear, love, shame, loyalty, duty, honor, pride. Now, for the first time, I truly understand. The love there...and the old wound...
*Even all that time ago,* I murmur, *he loved you. For a viking, he has good taste.*

*He stopped loving me a long time ago.* I smile wanly, *Now for a crowd favorite...* The scene before us switches to an old drinking hall. Bjorn the Bold is seated at the head of the table with Vilmar to his right. kneeling behind Vilmar, awaiting my chance for scraps. Suddenly, a young man bursts in, handsome but with a long cut down the side of his cheek and an enormous bruise in the shape of a bite mark. He runs straight up to the crimson girl, slapping her hard across the back of the head before she even had a chance to defend herself. Grabbing her by the braid, the man pulls her to her feet. "VILMAR BJORNSON! YOU TAKE CARE OF THIS WHORE OR I'LL KILL HER MYSELF!!!" Vilmar jumped to his feet and stood there with a shocked look on his face. The girl stood there, shuddering, "I went to have my way with her! Look what she did to my face! My arm!" As Vilmar stood there gaping his mouth like a fish, Bjorn jumped to his feet, pulled the crimson girl into his arms and slammed the man face first into the table, then the ground. "THIS girl is my daughter. Keep your filthy hands off of her! If I EVER hear that you have laid a single finger on her again, I'll let her do more than a simple bruise!" At that, he pulled a dagger from its leather scabbard and sliced the long braid. As the hair fell to the ground, Bjorn spoke, "This, my child, is Grennel. She has served me well and well she will serve you. It is your choice to leave or stay, choose your place." At that, the crimson haired girl fashioned the scabbard onto her own being, bowed to her father, and sat beside Vilmar-her older brother.

*Grennel...your blade.* I nod to myself, understanding.This is why they've always been a little formal about calling each other brother and sister. It is almost, to them, a title of mutual respect.
And I think I finally understand why we're in Kaija's memories, not Liam's, though the rest of it still has me lost. In near a hundred years, I've never done anything quite like this, and it really isn't my kind of magic. Oh I can influence a mind, but I'm not one for getting inside it. But this, at least, makes sense. If I was traveling an unsure road, I'd be picking out landmarks, and that would be what I'd describe to someone else who wanted to take the same trip. So she's picking out mental landmarks, memories they, for the most part, shared, and following them as a way to avoid being lost in the maelstrom that is his mind. Good thinking.
I really have underestimated the girl, I think as the scenes shift and change. It's all too easy for me to do. In my mind, nineteen is the middle of childhood, and I've been treating her like a gifted child, like Liam's kid sister. She's become the kid sister to all of us, really, all of us taking our lead from Liam and how he treated her. She was right. We thought of her as under her brother's wing, and she stood in his shadow in all our eyes, the younger kid. We thought she needed looking after. Damn were we-was I-wrong. In the world she came from, she was a full woman, and one who had seen more than I think I could have endured myself.
Scenes flash past, and the girl grows, now better fed and stronger, better dressed, her hair flowing down her back like a river at sunset. And Liam's always there, always watching her. Always.

So many faces so many horrors. I am tiring quickly I can feel it even the room is getting dimmer, that is my head or is it really happening. The distraction lasts long enough for too cold hands to be on me. The only solace being that the voices are quieter now. Less a thunderous crowd. Now an insidious whisper "monster, murderer, abomination" try as I might my protests fall to mocking laughter "you couldn't have done those things if it wasn't in you. Pretender" I can't move the hands too cold, too thin or too soft feel like cold shackles. So many hands, so many years. the weight is crushing, suffocating. I try to yell my defiance that I am not that man, but the words become garbled, as more hands and finger grasp at my mouth and tongue. pulling me lower. It feels like I am sinking drowning in a sea of my own making.

*And now, for the berserker's way of dating* I sighed as we watched the body of a handsome man fly out of a doorway. His face tortured and bloodied, I knew Liam had his way with him. Instead of explaining, however, I turned to Liv to watch for her response.

I can't help but giggle, covering my mouth with one hand as the memory of Liam, a half-grown teenager, stomps out of his home to continue his thrashing. *Somehow, I'm not surprised at all. If shotguns had been invented, he would have had one set aside for your dates, am I right?*

*No, quite wrong actually. * I sigh as I continue my story. *Liam always gave the men a fair chance-a trial to see if they could win me. To test their strength, and much much much more about them. Mostly, he wanted to see them stand by their values. When he saw that a man was interested, he'd find his weakness. And exploit it. If they failed...* I gestured at the now dead body laying in front of my brother. *Sadly, I was pretty.*

I wrinkle my nose. What at first had seemed funny, an overprotective big brother beating the new beau a little, has turned vicious. Was there nothing gentle in the world they were born to?
*I see...* I murmur. *A little over the top, by most standards...*

*Not to our family, you saw how I was treated...*

I shrug. It's not my place to pass judgement on the ways of men. *So, you never got a husband I'm guessing.*

*Not yet...I have someone in mind though.*

I shoot the girl a glance...then nod towards the proceedings. *What comes next?*

*Death.*

I nod, slowly, steeling myself. *Lead on then.*

The sea of hands and faces are suddenly gone, the lingering taste of decay still thick in my mouth and nose. looking around I am on a beach I have not stood on in many years, the old battered ship from the southern climes drifting in until it grinds to a halt on the rocky outcropping submerged below our beach, I see many of our men rush out with their weapons ready to see who or what is on the ship, my self included, when they return my old friend, Vilhelm is carrying the armored body of the southerner, a man nearly dead and apparently the lone occupant of the ship. the man who later killed me.