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Even through the silence, Siv held vigilant. She did not pray, as one might imagine someone of her title to do. There was little faith in her left for Odin All-Father, or his sons and daughters. They had not been there when she needed them, and they had never spoken to her or given her signs as others had seen. Her faith was in herself, and in her bones, her blood, and her will. They would survive this winter even if she had to grovel before this black-cow of a woman.
Without a word, without a spoken oath, Siv advanced. She looked up to the woman, but not into her eyes, and there was no doubt in her face. Even if fate had not drawn her here, she would make it her own. If power rested here, she would find it and exploit it as she had before. Not for herself now, no, but for the girl curled up in her arms and half-asleep. The road had been long, and hard, and she now desired respite.