41
" Her feet shifted underneath her. “I’m not sure what troubles
you.”
The wolf prowled, though he sat in a great chair. His uneasiness
made her skin tight and her heart race. Hakan was a handsome
man, very appealing to all of the fairer sex tonight with his black
jerkin stretched across broad shoulders. He had shaved for the
Glima festival, and his blonde hair, lighter from summer, loosened
from the leather tie.
“Many thoughts trouble me tonight, but Astrid’s not one of
them.” In the dim light of the longhouse, his white teeth gleamed
against his tanned face.
“Does your head ail you?” She clasped her hands together,
comfortable with the role of nurturing thrall.
“Nay, but ‘twould please me if you sat close to me and played
your harp.”
“Music would be pleasant.” Skittish and studying him under
the veil of her lashes, Helena retrieved her harp.
She sat cross-legged on a pelt near his chair. ‘Twas easy to
strum a soothing song and lose herself in the delicate notes her
fingers plucked. But when the last note faded, the restless wolf
stirred on his throne, unpacified.
“Why did you play that game with Astrid? Letting her think
more goes on between us?”
Ice-blue eyes pinned her, yet, ‘twas his voice, dangerous and
soft, that did things to her.
“I…I don’t know.” Her own voice faltered as warmth flushed
her skin.
Glowing embers molded his face with dim light. Hakan
leaned forward, resting both elbows on his knees. His sinewy hand
plucked the harp from her, placing it on the ground.
“Why?” Hakan’s fingertips tilted her chin. "
― , Norse Jewel (Norse, #1)
45
" In these days of physical fitness, hair dye, and plastic surgery, you can live much of your life without feeling or even looking old. But then one day, your knee goes, or your shoulder, or your back, or your hip. Your hot flashes come to an end; things droop. Spots appear. Your cleavage looks like a peach pit. If your elbows faced forward, you would kill yourself. You’re two inches shorter than you used to be. You’re ten pounds fatter and you cannot lose a pound of it to save your soul. Your hands don’t work as well as they once did and you can’t open bottles, jars, wrappers, and especially those gadgets that are encased tightly in what seems to be molded Mylar. If you were stranded on a desert island and your food were sealed in plastic packaging, you would starve to death. You take so many pills in the morning you don’t have room for breakfast.
You lose close friends and discover one of the worst truths of old age: they’re irreplaceable. People who run four miles a day and eat only nuts and berries drop dead. People who drink a quart of whiskey and smoke two packs of cigarettes a day drop dead. You are suddenly in a lottery, the ultimate game of chance, and someday your luck will run out. Everybody dies. There’s nothing you can do about it. Whether or not you eat six almonds a day. Whether or not you believe in God. "
― Nora Ephron , I Remember Nothing: and Other Reflections
