Hild made a playfully dismissive noise in Krem's direction when he mentioned a breaking, even though it was true. But Hild would likely not do the fixing of it. That duty would belong to her men. Her duty would be to direct. Even so, she would work hard, in the garden, with the animals. Maybe keep bees, brew mead. The possibilities felt endless, spreading out before them like the shimmering sea. She had never felt so free, so in control.

"Sheep," Hild chirped. She strolled towards Krem, a dancing step, one foot before the other with a bounce in between. "Flax. Make fine linen and wool for your clothes. Anything you wanted, we could make. Make it ours."