THE ART OF SINS
Their occasional touches—a hand on my shoulder or a brush of fingers—spoke of quiet pride and the deepening bond between us.
Evenings brought a welcome calm after the day’s exertions. We gathered around the long fire, sharing meals of roasted meat, bread, and mead while stories flowed freely. The brothers spoke of past raids, fallen comrades, and their vision for a united and prosperous territory under their rule. I shared tales from my own upbringing, the customs of my people, and the quiet strength I had learned in the face of loss. In these moments, the connection between us grew beyond the initial claiming. Their presence felt protective and reassuring, a foundation I had not realized I
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