Crying was for the weak and the helpless

Eva stopped just before a sharp turn and put her body against the wall, peeking her head out from the corner. In the corridor behind her were soldiers and barbarians clashing their weapons: the soldiers with their swords, the barbarians with their axes. She could tell at a glance that the soldiers were at a disadvantage, being outnumbered and visibly more worn out.

“You will not get past me, you damn beast!” said a bleeding soldier who was having a contest of strength with a barbarian, their weapons in a lock, though the soldier’s grip was faltering. Others were in the same predicament, with some handling two opponents at the same time.

Eva gritted her teeth and went back the way she came from. She knew she was of no use in battle, but that didn’t make her feel any less guilty. She took the long way around, avoiding and hiding from the skirmishes inside her own manor, each time feeling the sins weighing more and more on her back

© 2025 Caroline Slebodnik (Hljóðbók): 9798318228421

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Hljóðbók: 4 juli 2025