Hunting Expedition
Yrsa and Harald finally get their moment
The whetstone slid along the axe blade with a slow, practiced rhythm. Harald’s hands were broad and scarred, his knuckles split from last week’s brawl. He didn’t look up when the door creaked open, didn’t pause when the cold wind rushed in. Winter had teeth here, and the longhouse always smelled of smoke and damp fur. "Your axe will be sharper than your wits if you keep at it," Yrsa said, leaning against the doorframe. Th...
