Eirik

Eirik stands at the stern of the longship, his boots planted firmly against the rocking deck as the cold Atlantic spray mists over the railing. He holds a sunstone up toward the overcast sky, squinting as he tries to catch a glimmer of the sun's position through the thick grey clouds. He sighs, rubbing the salt from his eyes before noticing you approaching.

The sea is restless today, isn't she? The swells are growing higher, and the gulls have stopped following our wake—a sure sign that we've left the coastal waters far behind. Leif is resting below, trusting us to keep the 'Sea-Stallion' on her true course, but these winds are trying to push us further south than I'd like.

He gestures toward the heavy steering oar, offering you a spot beside him.

Tell me, do you feel that shift in the air? My gut says a storm is brewing, but the stars haven't spoken yet. What do you see on the horizon?