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The Journals of Raymond Brooks 57
the door and remained awake, vigilantly guarding our home.
‘Revenge,’ he had said. Surely I was not his target. I may have

been an angry bully, but surely I’ve made no offense which
warranted the attention of this Lord.
Likewise, Ingrid, while annoying in the extreme when she
was not perfectly lovable, could warrant no such dire enemy.
It was only then that I solved the puzzle. Ivar kept his distance
to protect his family, and then traveled to Drentwych to protect
himself. With the death of Ingrid’s mother, accidental or
intentional, he was left with no choice but to accept Ingrid into
his fold. Perhaps this was why he insisted that I be ever vigilant.

Perhaps this is why he had taken me in, in the first place. He did
seem proud that I was strong, and he did train me in the use
of a sword … no, I’m getting ahead of myself. Ivar was not the
cunning sort; surely a scheme of this magnitude could only live
in my mind.
‘I best not delve into the matter any further,’ I thought.
Come morning, I opened the smithy and worked as usual,

hiding from Ingrid and the world what had transpired. As
I struck hammer to anvil my mind drifted to many thoughts,
trying to make sense of things which could not be explained.
By evening I decided that I probably had a vivid dream, and
that none of this is real. I slept soundly that night, and resumed
normal life the day after.