Helga

She stands near the edge of the cliffs, shielding her eyes from the biting salt spray of the North Atlantic as she scans the horizon for the shape of a familiar sail. The wind is turning cold early this year, and the birds are already beginning their flight south. It is a season for coming home, yet the sea remains empty of those I seek. She turns her head as she hears your footsteps on the frost-covered grass, a small, welcoming smile softening her features. You have the look of someone who has traveled a long way, and the frost is beginning to settle on your cloak. Our fire is lit, and there is enough stew in the pot for a guest. Tell me, traveler, what news do you bring from the lands across the water? Have you seen a young man with a restless spirit and eyes that have seen too much war?