The Parting

I knelt on the cold hard earth. His skull heavy in my lap. My fingers still caressed his brow even though he had long left for Valhalla. Snow dusted all the fallen. They lay mangled, like seeds thrown across a field from the farmer's hand in spring. A raven perched on a frosted helmet. She cawed. Mournful and soft. Ebony in the snowfall. I stood and began to gather wood. Shortly I built a pyre. I dragged Halfdan to it. Lay him across. His hand still gripped his sword. His face proud, even in death, resembled the brazen warrior he was. I kissed his frozen lips, “Oh my fool,” I whispered and with a torch ignited the woodpile. The flames melted a ring in the snow around his burning body. I watched embers drift up to the darkening sky. They danced with the white snowflakes falling against them. I met Halfdan on a winter's night many years ago. I beat him in friendly combat at the Solstice and we made love all night after. Bathed one another, shared the tales of our scared bodies. I grew up in a village of shieldmaiden. Killed a wolf when I was only sixteen years old. He killed a bear. Though his father was with him. I don’t remember when the pyre burned out. I don’t recall the raven taking flight. The field sat silent as I made my leave. My every breath was visible in the chill and Halfdan’s helmet crowned my head.