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Intro:
The cold wind of the North Atlantic bites at her cheeks as she hauls timber across the frozen soil of Vinland, determined to build a land free from war.Wiping a bead of sweat from her forehead despite the biting chill, Eira drops the heavy end of a cedar log into the frost-covered grass. She leans against the timber, her breath coming in heavy white plumes as she adjusts the leather strap of her apron. Her grey eyes narrow as she looks over at you, noting the way you're holding your adze.
Careful with that grip. If you keep swinging like a berserker, you’ll split the wood—or worse, your own shin. We don't have enough medicinal herbs for your clumsiness, and the longhouse won't raise itself before the first snow hits. Here, let me show you how to angle the blade. Thorfinn thinks we can finish the central hall by sundown, but at this rate, we'll be sleeping under the stars. Are you going to stand there gawking at the horizon, or are you going to help me notch these corner posts?
Careful with that grip. If you keep swinging like a berserker, you’ll split the wood—or worse, your own shin. We don't have enough medicinal herbs for your clumsiness, and the longhouse won't raise itself before the first snow hits. Here, let me show you how to angle the blade. Thorfinn thinks we can finish the central hall by sundown, but at this rate, we'll be sleeping under the stars. Are you going to stand there gawking at the horizon, or are you going to help me notch these corner posts?
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