Page 13 of The Sun He Buried

“I climbed the pear tree beside the granary.”

“Sól.”

“He was busy.”

“You could have waited.”

“The gutter was loose.”

Baldr picks up his cup and drinks.

“I got onto the roof easily,” I continue.

He drinks again.

“The branch came right over the tiles. I crawled to the kitten, wrapped it in the front of my dress, and started back.”

“And then?”

“It objected.”

“To being rescued.”

“Some people struggle to accept help.”

“You were sixteen.”

“I was making a general observation.”

The kitten had been tiny, yellow, and full of personal rage. It climbed straight up the inside of my dress and came out through the collar beside my ear. I tell Baldr this with the dignity the event lacked.

He tries not to laugh. His lips press together. His shoulders start moving. Then I explain that the kitten covered both my eyes with its tail, and he gives up.

His laugh fills the room. This afternoon, he made a training yard full of warriors go quiet with one word. Now he has tears in his eyes over a kitten in my dress.

“I’m glad my suffering brings you joy.”

“You weren’t suffering.” He wipes one eye with his thumb. “You thought it was funny.”

“Not immediately.”

“How long did that take?”

“A week.”

“What happened after it covered your eyes?”

I cut another piece of carrot. His smile disappears.

“Sól.”

“I lost my footing.”

“You fell off the roof.”

“Only the last part.”

His hand drops flat onto the table. The spoons jump.