• You could tell by the hands of one how hard they have worked. A young lad, about 13 years of age, had tough and strong hands. Just like all the rest, he had been worked way past his limits since he was born. His build was a muscular one from years of hard work. All the fields he tended to, all the battle practice he had received. That and much more, you could tell. Then again, what do you expect from a Viking? After all, they were nothing but cold-hearted savages. People didn't even know half of it. In Scandinavia there were few natural resources. How were they expected to live on such cold and barren land? They had to fight for what they needed, even if it meant killing others. There are two ways you can look at this; cold blood murder or a way of survival.

    Vikings did not have a good reputation but it was there way of survival. If you ask even the youngest Viking, they will all say the same thing, "We do it because we must."

    ---

    "Thorleif?" called a melodic voice as a beautiful girl with straight, long brown hair danced around by the sea shore. Her emerald eyes sparkled delightfully, for once she was free to go out and play. No more knitting! The best thing was, she got to spend it all with Thorleif. They were arranged to be married in a year; despite there young age which was rather common back then. Something that was different about this arranged marriage was that they actually loved each other. Maybe parents weren't so bad, even when they were harsh and cruel.

    Standing up on a hill that over looked the blue sea, Thorleif stood high and proud. The setting sun's colors painted the sky with beauty making the water look as if it was a stand-still; posing to be drawn upon a canvas. "Up here, Lyra my love!" Thorleif smiled as he looked at his soon-to-be wife. Her graceful movements made him fall in love all over again as she tip toed along the shore, the sea splashing at her toes. Running his fingers through his medium-length black hair, he let out a small sigh before descending down the hill to its base, where he met up with Lyra.

    Though he hid his emotions well, Lyra could tell something was wrong the moment she stopped right before him. The 13 year old girl had a knack for knowing when something was wrong, just by looking at someone's body posture. "What's wrong, what has gotten you so down?" she asked gently, not wanting to offend Thorleif by making it seem like he couldn't handle himself. Some boys could be really edgy when it came to pride.

    Of course there was something nagging at his brain. In just a few days he would be rowing in a long boat to a town, one near Britain. It was the closest town from Scandinavian so it could have been worse. This was Thorleif's first ever time going on a raid though. He was nervous, who wouldn't be. Especially when all the senior Vikings would scold and thrash you if you made the slightest mistake. After all, your family members taught you much. Not just would it be embarrassing for him, it would bring dishonor to his family name. In the end, he just muttered, "Nothing."

    For the longest time, they just stared at each other. Lyra knew not to push him, he surely had good reasons. Looking up at the setting sun, she whispered quietly, "You should be getting home, you look beat. I'll be fine here." Before he could even think about complaining, Lyra continued, "You'll need all the energy you can get for your first big raid. I'm sure you'll make your family proud and give them great honor.

    Thorleif sighed, knowing that there was no use in arguing. "Farewell then, my love, fore' I may not see you until I return." Being a gentlemen was also a way he was brought up to be. Sharing silent good byes, Thorleif trudged along the rather frozen ground toward his home. It was time to get ready, eat a big dinner and head off to bed. Which is exactly what he did.

    ~~~

    "Everyone in the boat! Hut two, hut two! No time for stragglers! Get in the boat and find a seat! Pick up a paddle, if you can, and get ready to start rowing! We need supplies for our families, food for ourselves. Do you hear me?!" Thorleif's heart was pounding fast as the captain in charge of them, Captain Skap, gave orders quickly and loudly. His mean voice didn't help the teenager's anxiety at all either. Trying to take deep breaths, he stepped forward a few inches. He couldn't back down now! He was a warrior, a Viking!

    As much as Thorleif would like to admit it was his confidence that led him forward, it was more like a mob of fellow Vikings pushing him toward the boat. Talk about in a rush. Maybe if he thought about it this way, the sooner they left, the sooner they would be back. Looking at some of the senior people, he did as they did and took a seat behind one of the long paddles that seemed to spread oh so far. Gripping the wood with his leather-gloved hands, he let out a small breath. Next thing he knew he heard a yell, "Ready!"

    At first he thought it was just a question. It wasn't. The paddle almost slipped out of his hand as the others around him started to row. Thorleif put in his own effort, years of hard work making the task seem easier then it would be if he hadn't. Concentrating to the beat up the paddles, the beat of the drums, he hummed a little tune as they went on their way. That was just his way to pass the time, to focus on his current task.

    ~~~

    Days passed, or was it months, and all there seemed to do were three things; eat, sleep, and row. If Thorleif wasn't rowing, he was sleeping. If he wasn't sleeping, he was rowing. Barely did he even have time to eat more then a few bites of bread, which was rather scarce now as the journey continued. As he took a small bite out of his stale bread, Thorleif looked up at the grey sky above. He wasn't an expertise in sailing but surely that didn't mean good. Most likely something bad was going to come and boy, was he right.

    Only a few hours passed before strong winds began. They were so strong, they picked up water and tended to spray it in a frenzy on them. The boat rocked back and forth, threatening to tip over, as the waves began to raise higher and higher due to the harsh wind. "It's a gale take cover!" someone shouted not to far away from Thorleif.

    Good thing Thorleif had grabbed something, a large wave crashed into them. It didn't take long before he was soaked from head to toe. All of his strength was being tested just to hold on to something. Meanwhile, some of the more experienced, and bigger men, were following orders that could barely be heard over the roar of the winds. Tears crept to the corner of his eyes as they were buffed, some debris flying into them, when he looked up to see what was around.

    Shaking, he crawled forward and grabbed a hold of a rope, like some other people were doing. Just as you grabbed on, the boat nearly tipped. Fellow Vikings were soon consumed by the howling and enraged sea; their screams vanishing into thin air. It was a very haunting site. Thorleif was lucky, though a sharp pain ached in his head. Next thing he knew, blackness had taken over his conscious.

    ~~~

    A jab in the ribs caused Thorleif to come back to, eyes fluttering wearily and cautiously open. Surely he was dead. No, he wasn't dead. What he saw around him looked like the underworld though. Little parts and pieces, nothing too valuable, had broken off the ship. All the men were wear and tired. It seemed as if their numbered had decreased by a third, it was still enough though. Coughing up water, Thorleif clumsily stood to his unsteady legs.

    Captain Skap had made it, though he looked as if he just aged much. "Everyone, rest now. We reach our destination tomorrow! I know it may seem like much but we are men, we are fighters. For our families! For our friends! For ourselves; we fight!" Hoarse cheers broke out around the dreadful looking remainders, Thorleif soon joining in with the 'woots.'

    ~~~

    "Land dead ahead! Prepare yourself." Anxious whispers soon started to begin after the land was in sight. Thorleif remained mostly to himself, head still spinning from the previous day. It didn't seem like long before the long boat reached shallow waters. Getting ready, Thorleif crouched down a bit and waited for the signal. "Now!"

    Everyone jumped out of the tattered up boat, looking rather worn down. Still, they were full of energy as they charged toward the town with their weapons held high. Thorleif was right behind them with a sharp sword in his right hand, a shield in the other. He charged into the nearest house; occupied by a mother, her newborn, and two sons. The man of the house must have been out doing whatever he did.

    You could see fear written plainly on there faces as the mother stood protectively in front of her children. The oldest son, maybe a year younger the Thorleif, was the one was stepped the closest though. When he was close enough, holding an axe awkwardly, Thorleif lunged forward. The boy swung his axe but Thorleif parried the blow. Having been trained with a sword, this didn't seem like a challenge. A few blows later, and that brave young son was beheaded.

    Tears twinkled down the mothers face as she hysterically rushed at Thorleif. She looked completely insane. All he did was stick out his sword, which drove through the woman's body; leaving her to fall limp to the ground. Quickly, withdrawing the sword, he cast a look at the newborn and youngest son. Thorleif didn't want to waste anymore time so he quickly grabbed food that the family had spent hard on making and supplies that would do well. He even grabbed a silver necklace from a dresser before dashing out the door with his loot.

    Thorleif ran back to the long boat, which many people from his village were heading toward. Throwing the stuff into the boat, they were soon rowing quickly away as fast as they could. They had been swift, they had been stealthy, and they had been vicious. Remembering that family that he had most likely ruined, Thorleif couldn't help but think of Lyra.

    Lyra was, in fact, the only thing he could think about, well worry about, as time passed so slowly. Despite how tired he was, Thorleif put his best effort into his tasks. He wanted to get home though he knew no matter how hard he worked, it would still take months to reach back home.

    ~~~

    "Land dead ahead!" This time, the whispers that spread around the boat were excited and happy. The second they hit the shore, all of the men, including Thorleif, seemed to rush toward the villagers that awaited before them.

    Eyes scanning the huge crowd, Thorleif focused on only one thing that he wanted to find oh so much. That's when he spotted what she was looking for. Her long, brown hair was gently blowing in the small gusts of wind. Lyra! Running over to her, Thorleif smiled. Just like any boy his age, he had a real goofy smile plastered on his face. Truth though, he wasn't a boy anymore. He was a man. A true, warrior man.

    "You look horrible! You must rest and let me feed you something proper!" Lyra fussed, "Look at you, so strained and tired! I told you to take it easy. Do you listen though? You could have died out there!" Tears ran down her face as she hugged Thorleif, quickly letting go though. "Well, you heard me! Go off, we have prepared dinner at your parents house."

    Sure, Thorleif was a true Viking now but Lyra knew how to make you feel like a little kid again. Rolling his eyes, he murmured, "I missed you too."