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38 Amit Bobrov
rest of the townsfolk ate their questionable shared meal in the
town square.

I was quite surprised by this strange young woman who stood
by the door, not even bothering to knock. It seemed that she
was waiting for someone, and I was quite intrigued. So, hidden
in the smithy, I studied her carefully. She was two heads taller
than I. Fairly long blond hair, almost white in shade, reached
half-way down her back. It was braided into one pigtail, and tied
with a simple leather ribbon. Her face and frame were wider
than mine and fuller, with a chubby, porcine nose that at first
glance made her resemble an unattractive beast. Despite my

initial exaggerated reaction, she was quite fair upon the eyes.
With blue eyes and an absent-minded expression, she cast her
gaze towards the town’s square. I could not take my eyes off
her.
When Ivar finally approached she smiled broadly, going to
him and speaking in a language I’d never heard before. I walked
towards the window to catch a better view. Ivar appeared

stunned, then, after recognizing her, smiled broadly. As they
embraced I found myself walking backwards, deeper into the
smithy, as if the power of their affection physically drove me
back. For a moment, I thought she was his bride, and I knew
what envy was.
‘How unfair that a man of his age should have a young maiden
for a wife!’ I thought.
“Adam! Come on out!” Ivar called, and I lost the train of my
thought obeying his command absentmindedly.

“This is my daughter, Ingrid! Is she not beautiful?” He asked,
on the brink of joyous tears. My eyes moved from him to her,
and now it was her turn to study me. I didn’t like the small shifts
in her facial features as she studied me. She probably thought