Free A Bone to Pick by Gina McMurchy-Barber

Sigrid realizes she has not even thought about him since the moment she picked up the sword. Where could he be? He could not have gone that far — after all, he is only a toddler. “Snorri!” she calls again and again. As the minutes pass with no sight of the little boy, Sigrid’s pulse quickens. “Snorri! You little menace, if you’re hiding, you come out right now or I’ll —” What will she do? It is not his fault that she completely ignored him or forgot to keep an eye on him. She gazes out to the grey, cold ocean with its choppy waves, then to the marshlands to the west and the forest beyond that.
    â€œQuickly, Gunnar,” Sigrid commands. “You go to the beach. I’ll head into the forest.” The two go in opposite directions, calling out the little boy’s name.
    As the minutes mount, Sigrid grows more frightened. What will Aunt Gudrid do to me? she thinks. “Snorri, where are you?” It seems unlikely he could cross the wetlands without getting stuck. Perhaps he has fallen down and is trapped in the mud. “Why can’t I hear you crying? Cry, Snorri, cry for help,” she wills him.
    Sigrid reaches the crest of the hill and looks back to where she has come from. Gunnar is there, waving and beckoning her to return. Maybe he has found him, she thinks. She races over the dense, wet ground, tripping every few feet. Each time she falls, her dress gets wetter and heavier and causes her to stumble even more.
    â€œThere’s no sign of him. I think we need to get help,” says Gunnar.
    It will be dark soon, and Sigrid knows what he says is true. As they run to the settlement, Sigrid’s mind flashes images of tiny Snorri in the hands of a wild cat or drowned in the sea or marsh, or even worse, fallen into the hands of the wicked skraelings.
    Silently, she prays to Frigga — I know I cursed you before, and I am very sorry for that. But, Great Goddess, do not take out your anger on Snorri. Please watch over him. Show us where to find him. If you do this, then I promise to become the woman you want me to be. And if you absolutely insist, I will marry that old man Uncle Thorfinn has chosen and have a child of my own one day … probably … most likely. But only if no harm comes to Snorri!
    Through the dark night, every man and woman from the settlement searches meadow, hillside, and beach for Snorri. His name is called so often it becomes one with the wind. The search continues until the day breaks. But the only son of Gudrid and Thorfinn is nowhere to be found. Sigrid cannot look any of the settlers in the eye for the shame of her neglect. “Poor Snorri,” she cries.
    â€œIt was the skraelings, I’m sure,” wails Gudrid. “They took him from me. What have they done with my little boy?”
    â€œWait, what’s that there?” one of the men calls out. He points to a thin line of smoke rising from the forest. They all turn and see it.
    â€œSkraelings!” screams Hanna, Gunnar’s mother. “Skraelings have started a fire in the forest. What are they doing?”
    The men who are already with shield and sword charge up the hillside first. Gudrid and Sigrid follow close behind. Once inside the woods they smell the fire and follow the scent. As they come to a small clearing, though, they do not find an unchecked blaze but only a small firepit with flames licking up the last of the night.
    â€œWait here!” commands Hellava, one of the men. “I don’t know what we’ll find.”
    Gudrid whimpers, and Sigrid holds her hand as Hellava approaches the fire.
    With a burst of energy Hellava calls to her, “Come, Gudrid, come quick.”
    Sigrid and her aunt run toward him. When they arrive, they look down on a sight more peculiar than can be imagined. Next to the fire, lying on a bed of moss and covered in a deerskin, is Snorri, peacefully asleep. Only when Gudrid speaks his name does he