Person, carrying an axe, ran away, and four children giggled and followed him.
Boys begged to touch the axe, and girls praised Person's handsome looks, making him bloom with joy.
They disappeared at a distant intersection, and Sigrdrifa silently got up from the muddy ground.
She didn't cry, but merely pressed her swollen cheek, saying nothing.
"Heh, Vikings." A voice filled with the weight of years spoke up.
Sigrdrifa lifted her head to look at the man who had spoken.
Village chief Wild, a man in his forties, seemed to be returning from outside the village, having just witnessed the scene.
"Chief, my mother asked me to trade the axe for bread and pickled fish," Sigrdrifa stood up and said softly, "But the axe has been stolen."
"I saw," old Wild said quietly, looking at her, "Aren't you bitter about it?"
Sigrdrifa looked at him, puzzled.
"Resentment is the very first instinct that drives humans to kill," old Wild said, "Humans are unequal by birth."
