Greenland, present day

Not a breath escapes my lips. Not a muscle moves in my body. Not a wink, not a tremble, not a twitch. I'm frozen in fear of the formidable predator.

Then, the beast growls, and I fall apart. All tension releases and my limbs can no longer hold me. I tumble into the cold waters. I hear a yelp from the man on the cliff above as I hit the jagged rocks with my knees. Red blood mixes with dark blue water into a purple mess.

Supposedly, bears can smell blood. It ignites all their predatory senses and makes them go berserk.

Before I can get on my feet, the animal is above me. Warm breath touches my neck and the raspy sound reverberates through my ear canals while I scramble in the cold waves. As I turn, soaked to the bone and scared senseless, the beast is everything I see. White fur with a few dark strands woven into it, splashed and dirty like snow in March. Rows of jagged teeth, cracked from tearing into its unlucky prey. Paws the size of frying pans, one of them dangling in the air precariously close to me. Water drops fall from it onto my forehead.

The beast is ready to strike at any moment.

But it doesn't.

A second passes and then another. The bear studies me as if the animal is trying to figure something out. Our gazes meet. Its eyes are big and black, like puddles of water, but around the pupil, there's a small line of blue.

I can sense something in those eyes. Something familiar and relatable. Something that doesn't seem beastly at all. A hint of pain and confusion.

Without even thinking about it consciously, I squeeze the object in my hand. I clasp my fingers around it as hard until my nails hurt, because it's the only thing I have to hold on to. "Go away," I whisper as if the artifact can help me control something driven purely by primal urge.

The paw splashes into the water beside me, without causing harm. Instead sharp teeth come closer. So close that I can see cavities on the enamel of the fangs. I hold my breath, waiting for the sharp weapons to tear into my flesh.

But the bite doesn't come. Instead, a soft nose nudges against my shoulder, continuing down my arm. I open my balled-up fist as the animal touches it. The artifact I retrieved from the waters is revealed in my grip.

A sound emanates from the beast. Not a growl and not a roar, but rather a whimper. Like a wounded puppy calling for help.

The animal retreats. It backs away toward the rocky shoreline and then, it runs. The bear gallops away from me as if I hurt it, with dirty fur swaying and water drops cascading from the body.

Everything is over so quickly, that I can barely process it. Numb from cold and fear, I remain in the water, unable to keep myself from thinking of what could have happened. In my mind, those teeth are munching on my flesh and those paws are pulverizing my bones. Perhaps I'm just too shocked to feel it. Perhaps I'm already dead.

"Get up! Hurry!" the words jolt me back to reality, away from the silent allure of the cold waves I'm submerged in. I look up into big black eyes once again. But these eyes don't belong to a bear, but to a human. A man who is holding out his hand toward me.

I take it. With the beartooth still secured in my other hand, I let the mysterious stranger fish me out of the arctic waves.

I've always been told to not trust strange men. But it's not like this guy's company could really be much worse than a bear's. He probably won't kill me at least. Hopefully.

"It might come back," he says, looking with concern toward where the beast disappeared. "Let's go to my car. Quickly."

I nod, because what else can I do, and follow along as the man guides me across the cliffs, toward a jeep on a small dirt road on the other side. The vehicle is dirty and a bit banged up--perhaps from driving on these kinds of roads--but it's safe.

The man shoves some trash--fast food wrappers and receipts mostly, I can't really judge since that's what my Toyota is filled with as well--to the side to make room for me on the passenger side. My teeth are chattering and every limb is shaking as I climb onto the seat.

"Here," the still unnamed man says, rummaging in the backseat for something. "Wrap yourself in this to get warm."

He holds out a blue fleece blanket with a pattern of snowflakes and little bears with hearts on their bellies.

I can't help but burst into laughter as I look at it.

At first, my savior looks confused at my reaction. But then, his gaze falls on the blanket as well. A burst of rolling laughter echoes between the cliffs.

"I didn't plan to save people from bears when I put the blanket in here," he mumbles. "I think my mom bought it." He tucks the item around my shoulders. Because bear-pattern or not, I do need to get warm.

"Well, I didn't plan to get saved from any bears when I came here," I mutter in reply, wrapping the soft item closer around me while the man, who hopefully isn't planning to murder me, makes his way around the car. Would a murderer carry such cute blankies in his car?

As he sits down in the driver's seat, I peer at my knight in shining armor, finally getting a good look at him. Hair as dark and unruly as the arctic water falls around his neck, covered on top by a wide-brimmed hat. His build is stocky and muscular, in a way that makes every clothing item fit exactly right. Wide shoulders are covered by a plaid shirt and jeans are tucked into leather boots.

He looks like a damn Inuit cowboy, and dammit, he makes the look work.

"Mikk," he says, holding out his hand in a greeting. His mischievous smile hints that perhaps he noticed me ogling him just a little. Well, I almost got eaten by a bear, so I should be allowed some ogling. To celebrate being alive or something. "Well, Mikkel really but Mikk is easier for the tourists to say. And I kind of like it."

"I'm Saga," I reply, taking his hand in mine. Somehow, it's warm, despite everything around it being cold.

"Swedish?" he asks, perhaps picking up on my accent. Or he just has a built-in Swedish-dar.

I nod.

"Jeg kan tale Dansk," he says, switching language on the spot. "Or Kalaallisut, but that's probably less useful..."

I've only known this guy for about five minutes and he's already revealed that he speaks 3 languages. It kind of seems like a brag. Although I must admit it's quite impressive.

"English is fine," I reply, declining his offer to switch to Danish, or Kalaallisut, which I assume is a native language of the island. Theoretically, Swedish and Danish, the official language of Greenland, are closely related enough for speakers to be able to communicate, but to my ears, the neighboring language sounds like someone speaking with oatmeal in their mouth. "I work as a software developer so I speak English all the time at work anyway."

I may be rambling at this point, but it's hard not to when your teeth are shattering and a handsome trilingual man looks at you with genuine concern in his eyes.

"English it is then," Mikk concludes, turning the key in the ignition. "That's easy enough."

"My backpack and shoes are left on the cliff," I protest as he backs up the car, trying to turn it on the narrow road Austin Powers-style. Although Mikk handles the maneuver much better than the groovy action hero.

"I'll go back for them later," Mikk replies without hesitation. "Neither of us should be out there when the bear might still be around. And you're at risk of hypothermia after you plunge into the water, so my first priority is to get you warmed up."

"Are you some kind of Greenlandic rescue ranger?"

"Nope." He smiles warmly, somehow making my frozen limbs tingle. "Just a whale safari guide who likes to take long drives along the coastline. You never know what you may find on these shores."

"Foolish Swedish women wandering into the water and getting attacked by bears?"

"Well, that was certainly a first even for me. Lucky I was there though, cause walking back to town in those wet clothes would not have been a good idea, even if there wasn't a bear on the loose."

I just nod, suddenly feeling pain throughout my body as the immediate shock is passing. My knees are busted up, my back is sore, and my head is throbbing.

"Where do you live here in town?" Mikk asks, ever the chatterbug. "I can drop you off there and then call wildlife services. Polar bears shouldn't venture so close to town, so they may have to deal with it. And they probably want to talk to you about what happened as well."

"I... don't live anywhere," I reply, feeling lost and alone. "I just got here."

After a moment of contemplation, Mikk nods. "I'll take you to my parents' bed & breakfast then," he volunteers. "It's not the most luxurious place but my mom can give you some dry clothes and something hot to eat. After you've had a warm shower that is."

All those things sound heavenly right now.

"And I can check in on you to make sure you're alright tomorrow."

That does sound quite heavenly too. Just the thought of having someone care about my well-being makes my already goose-pimpled skin rise further, bringing along a fuzzy sense of delight.

Stefan didn't even call when I had to go to the ER for a busted ankle a couple of years ago. He mostly seemed concerned it would inconvenience him.

I squeeze the beartooth, still secure in my hand, and thank my lucky star I never found that darn ring. I don't need it. I don't want it. I don't miss it.

Author's Note: Some notes on the languages spoken in this story (and how it relates to the language written on the page):

- Saga and Mikk will speak English to each other throughout the story (as is explained within the story in this chapter). So when they speak to each other, the words are the same as are on the page.

- Saga may speak Swedish at times as well since that is her first language (like for phone calls home and the like). Those parts will also be written in English though (since I assume my readers don't know Swedish) even though I, the author, actually also speak Swedish. Some words may be written in Swedish if the actual word is important for plot reasons. She may also speak Swedish to a Greenlandic Danish speaker if that person doesn't know English (these parts will also be written in English, but I will try to convey the language difference somehow).

- Björn actually speaks Old Norse in his chapters. These chapters are also written in English as the author doesn't speak Old Norse :) (nor does the readers).

- Since Swedish and Danish both originate from Old Norse, Saga and Mikk can both understand certain words from that language (such as the word/name Björn, which would be similar in all three languages). This will come into play later in the story.