Oskar stood at his post, rifle at the ready and his eyes trained on the opposite bank. The air was thick with snow, and he had to strain just to make out the far end of the bridge. The camp less than a hundred meters behind him might as well have been in a different world. He scratched his chin irritably, picking at the growing stubble that was by now almost long enough to count as a full beard. Even at camp it was too cold to wet their chins to shave, and after a few disastrous attempts at shaving dry the captain had agreed they should just let it be for now. Their posting here would last another few weeks at least. The bridge was one of the few safe places to cross the river, and it needed to be well defended. Not that he honestly expected an attack. Everyone knew the bridge was almost impossible to take from a defending force. Of course, that was the very reason it was so important for them to be here. If they weren’t, the enemy would take the bridge without hesitation, and then taking it back would be impossible. He heard footsteps behind him, but it was another hour before his watch was up. Looking back with a curious frown, he found a pale woman with lovely green eyes, her hair and her furs covered in a layer of snow. “Ah, the mysterious lady from the forest. What might you be doing here?” “The same thing I do everywhere. What about you?” He smiled wryly. “Much the same as I’d do were I somewhere else, I’d wager.” The woman laughed softly and stood beside him. Looking out at the snow-covered bridge, she put on a thoughtful mien. “It’s been over a thousand years since they built this…” “Somewhere thereabouts, I suppose.” Oskar agreed. “And in all that time it’s never once been taken by force.” “It’s a very defensible position.” “The men who lay these stones knew what they were doing.” He didn’t quite know what to say to that, and so he simply nodded. The two stood there silently for a while, watching the bridge side by side. Oskar wanted to say something, but before he could quite figure out what, the woman started singing. “The men of Raskile Bridge stood by, so steadfast yet, so steadfast yet. The men of Raskile Bridge stood by as King and honour bade them.” He knew the song. It was an old one, almost as old as the bridge itself. He wasn’t a great singer, but he nevertheless cleared his throat and joined in. “Through wind and rain and snow they fought, so steadfast yet, so steadfast yet. Upon the bridge that never fell as King and honour bade them.” Someone in camp must have heard them and picked up the tune, because voice after voice sprung up behind them. Soon the two by the bridge were backed by a choir at least a hundred strong. “With steel in hand they stood prepared, so steadfast yet, so steadfast yet. To fight until their final breath as King and honour bade them.”