The fjord-mouth colony of Hrafnborg smelled of pitch and smoke, as all newborn settlements did.
Stone walls rose from the edge of the forest, carved from local quarries by the labor of thralls, it curved around the settlement like the rim of a shield.
Inside, longhouses of turf and pine clustered around a square where a half-built church and a shrine to Odin stood glaring at one another, the compromise of conquerors and converts alike.
It had been half a decade since the longships pushed into these western waters.
At first, they had come under the promise of protection. But protection had quickly become settlement, and settlement had hardened into colonies.
Now men called them by names: Hrafnborg, Ulfsnes, Sólheim.
Places on maps, no longer whispers in sagas.
And with permanence came struggle.
Winter here bit deeper than in Iceland, and the land, though fertile, demanded backbreaking labor to tame.
