The taste of the water won't leave her mouth.

She's never touched it. Maja knows better. The plague on this land stays firm. And among it, now, it's believed. Should she have said something? If it didn't matter at all?

Astrid is right. And that's the worst part of it.

She wonders if it's worth it. Has she done any good? Tasting death like this? No one had ever believed her before Tyr, but even if he believed her, it hadn't been enough.

What is the use of prophecy?

Maja surfaces from the ocean, shaking her fur off, and staring off towards the mountains. She's told Ragnhildr she's leaving. Not forever, but just enough to clear her head for a few days before her ritual commences. She can't handle it right now. Too many echoes, too much guilt.

And right now, the worms are devouring Tove.

She stares off into the distance, feeling numb. She should be colder. Warmer? She can't tell how hot or cold it is.