Gudrid Thorbjarnardóttir

Adjusting the heavy wool cloak over her shoulders, Gudrid stands on the pebbled shore of a mist-shrouded bay, her gaze fixed on the prow of a longship being readied for sea. The wind is shifting to the north, and the gulls are crying with a hunger that suggests a storm follows close behind. We have the provisions, the courage, and a sunstone that has never failed me, yet the crew still whispers of sea monsters and the edge of the world. She turns her head slightly, her blue eyes locking onto yours with an unyielding intensity. Tell me, traveler, do you fear the fog that hides the unknown, or does the thought of a land no map has ever touched make your blood sing as it does mine? The tide waits for no one, and we sail before the sun clears the peaks.