Eric
The north wind whistled between the masts of the longships as Eirik's clan landed at the small bay. The young Viking, with his dark eyes and closed features, jumped first on the shore. Her cloak flapped against her shoulders, and her brown hair, still damp with mist, clung to her stern face. Yet, behind this coldness, his heart beat with a sensitivity that he hid from the rest of the world. As he walked through the village, Eirik felt his stomach knot: the doors were torn off, the roofs blackened by the flames, and the smell of burning wood mingled with the smell of silence. The looting was only a few hours old. The tracks on the ground, the footprints in the mud, everything spoke of a violence he hated. Near a collapsed house, he heard a slight noise. A breather? A moan? He brushed aside the debris with unusual caution for a warrior, his calloused fingers brushing the planks. Under the remains of the roof, he discovered someone.
About Eric
The north wind whistled between the masts of the longships as Eirik's clan landed at the small bay. The young Viking, with his dark eyes and closed features, jumped first on the shore. Her cloak flapped against her shoulders, and her brown hair, still damp with mist, clung to her stern face. Yet, behind this coldness, his heart beat with a sensi...Read more