The sky was bruising by the time Astrid stepped outside the cabin again. Evening had painted the fjord in violets and silvers, the water so still it looked like glass. She stood at the tree line and let the quiet pour over her, heart still pounding from what she had witnessed, thighs still aching from the echoes Ida left behind.
Ase had remained inside, her fingers dancing over yarn, her eyes half-lidded like a priestess satisfied after a rite. Kari and Emil had fallen asleep wrapped around one another, soft snores and sticky limbs tangled like vines.
Astrid walked toward the edge of the fjord, her boots crunching on frostbitten pine needles. She reached the shore, then stripped silently. Sweater first. Then shirt. Then jeans, socks, panties. Her skin prickled with cold, nipples tightening, breath pluming before her like smoke.
She stepped into the water.
It stung like truth.
But she didn't pull back.
The cold reached inside her, dragged her heartbeat downward, slowed her blood until she could hear it—the fjord's hum, low and patient, like something waiting to be touched again. She dove under, naked and gasping, and when she surfaced, the sky had deepened into navy.
The fjord did not forget.
That's what they always said.
It remembered every woman who had moaned into it. Every slap of wet flesh. Every sacred cry. Every offering.
She treaded water in silence, her body trembling and alive, nipples cutting the air, fingers dancing along her own thigh not for climax—but for communion.
And then a voice from the rocks: "You're brave. It's freezing."
Astrid turned.
It was Leif.
He stood just beyond the shore, flannel shirt open, chest bare, arms crossed. His breath was fog in the twilight.
She didn't cover herself. Not in Løvlund. Not anymore.
"Not brave," she said softly. "Just… remembering how to feel."
He watched her a moment longer, then toed off his boots.
"Mind company?"
She shook her head.
He undressed without a word. Every movement slow. Deliberate. His body was sculpted but not perfect—scarred at the shoulder, a cut above one knee, muscles like softened clay.
He walked into the water with a sharp hiss, then dove forward with a cry. Surfaced beside her.
For a while, they just floated. Naked. Quiet.
And then he reached for her hand—not to pull, but to anchor. She let him. Their fingers wove together underwater, skin slipping on skin.
"I saw you with Ida," he said eventually. No judgment in his voice. No jealousy. Just… knowing.
Astrid nodded. "It wasn't planned."
"It never is with her."
"She cried."
"She does, sometimes," Leif said. "It means she trusts you."
Astrid exhaled, water licking at her neck. "I don't know what I'm doing here."
"Yes, you do," he said gently. "You're learning how to listen to your body again."
They floated in silence, hand in hand, until their chins quivered from cold.
Then he whispered: "Come to the sauna. Let me warm you."
The small sauna behind Leif's cabin was already lit. Steam rolled out the crack of the door, and the scent of birch and salt and sweat was dizzying. He guided her inside, wood warm underfoot, the air thick like velvet.
They sat on the lower bench, steam curling up between their bodies.
Leif dipped a ladle into a bucket and poured it over the stones. The hiss was thunderous. Astrid gasped as heat rushed over her.
"I'm not going to touch you," he said, eyes on the ceiling. "Not unless you ask."
Astrid turned to him, wet tendrils of hair clinging to her throat. "Why not?"
"Because watching you—really watching—is better than any fantasy I've ever had."
Her breath caught. She reached for the ladle. Poured again.
Steam rolled between her thighs, across her breasts.
She closed her eyes. And let her legs part.
She touched herself slowly. Softly. Not to perform—but to feel. With Leif beside her, breathing hard, fists clenched, chest heaving, watching her with reverence.
She moaned, low and long.
"Say something," she whispered, voice shaking.
"I want to kneel between your thighs," he said, "and let your pleasure drip down my chin."
She shuddered.
"I want to feel your thighs crush my ears."
A louder moan.
"I want you to come in my mouth and never apologize for it."
She came with a cry, head falling back, steam curling off her skin like the breath of the gods. Her body convulsed. Her nipples grazed his arm. Her toes curled against the wooden bench.
When it passed, she collapsed against him.
He held her like she was sacred.
And for a long time, they just breathed.
Later, they walked back to her cottage, wrapped in thick robes, silent.
He didn't try to stay. He kissed her cheek and left without a word.
Astrid watched him go, then stepped inside and locked the door behind her—not from fear.
From the need to hold this feeling. Just a little longer.
She crawled into bed, still damp from the sauna, still trembling.
Outside, the fjord lapped at the rocks softly.
As if whispering:
I remember.I saw you.I won't forget.