So the wedding went well, and the paper girl was brought into the house, bidding farewell to her parents and bringing along a pair of obstinate sheep, a handful of chickens.

How noisy his house was now- all these people, growing older, all his cats crowding around him for treats and coming to sleep in his bed.

Sif decided that it would be best to give them all more space; did they not need to adjust to having a new wife in their midst? He contributed by taking up Rágn's bow, so as to let him spend more time at home.

" How my lord's arrows land true!" one of the older men complimented him as they hunted together. " And you have taken it up only recently!"

Sif, collecting a bird he had shot down from the air, was pleased with the praise.

" I like this bow very much," he said. " It shoots higher than I can jump. I wouldn't have thought to use it, had Rágn not needed honeymoon."

" Ah, lucky Rágn," a man said. " Lucky Garda! For so many years, she turned down proposals, waiting for him!"

" You must be a bit jealous, Lord Hélna, having your attendant taken from you," the older man said.

Sif tipped his head.

" Was it not I who arranged it?" he said, drawing his bow. " I think coven Yrnhold should like very much to raise a grandchild."

" Or two, or three, four, five, six-"

The men laughed as they continued on, and then exclaimed praises with surprise when Sif shot down a fleeing pheasant.

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