His fatigue and the stress of the battle caught up with him as he returned home; he began to stumble, and collapsed against the door, body not obeying his wishes, before he could open it.

He faintly heard the old woman call for him, and then the door opened; he fell into warm arms.

It made him miss Helna's embrace... He would never feel so at ease again, could never be held again.

For a time he dreamt fitfully, waking only to find darkness, his body sweating, aching, and then he would drift off again. The dreams came like flashes of light, memories from different times of his life.

The scent of straw, the scent of Helna; the watered down milk the strange thing gave him, the first taste of flesh he had ever had, a fat mouse his mother had killed; the first human food he had eaten, his breakfast the night after Helna died, chicken and carrot and herbs.

He woke gasping, a wet cloth across his forehead; it reminded him of the water woman's touch, and he made to fling it away, but the old woman stopped him.

" Lady Hélna! Are you awake?" she asked urgently.

Sif could not make a sound, but he grit his teeth, wishing he could yowl, tried to take his arm from her grasp.

" Lady Hélna, you have a terrible fever, you must let your forehead cool," she commanded sternly. " That wraith you killed had poison in its claws; even one swipe could kill a grown man."

How long had he been asleep? He felt that he was a terrible god; surely the real Helna wouldn't have been so terribly sick and fevered. He pulled himself up, trying to get out of the bed, but the old woman pushed his shoulders back down.

" Rest," she ordered. " I will have your kittens brought in for you, so stay in bed with them."

Sif narrowed his eyes, but he was struck by terrible hunger, and the fatigue was coming over him again. He laid back and let the old woman do as she would.

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