The gulls cried overhead as the docks near Runeheim came into view. Sygrun had traveled south to meet with the Sea Wolves but returned with salt braided into her hair. They had greeted her with style? Her memory was a painful blur of drinks, songs, and laughter.

How did they drink so much?

When she came back to her senses the ship had long since set sail. In a moment’s panic she remembered this was Ormhildr’s domain but the captain had joyfully remarked she hadn’t been chosen by fate as the voyage’s sacrifice when they had drawn lots the first day out to sea.

The sea wolves had laughed, an earth mage adrift in the sea. What a gift.

The first few days had been pure misery as she adapted to the rhythm of the waves and wind along the coast. The deck pitched unevenly beneath her, and her stomach had rebelled against every motion. When she tried to steady herself with earth magic the ocean answered with a swell that nearly threw her overboard. The Sea Wolves had roared with laughter, calling it the sea’s lesson: no ground beneath you, no certainty above. But they sang together with voices rising like a storm bolstering her spirits as she learned to walk steadily across the deck.

Now, finally, her boots met the wood of Runeheim’s pier, and the world tilted beneath her. While the earth remained steady, her feet were still lost in the memory of the waves. More laughter followed, as she stumbled like a newborn fawn toward more solid ground. The smell of old smoke and brine clinging to her clothes.

“Finally”, she thought.

Her knees crashing to the ground as she dug her fingers into the dirt along the edge of the road. Feeling for the pulse of the land under her hands to calm herself with its reassuring stillness. It did nothing to ease the empty ache within her chest, but for the first time in weeks she felt the world stop swaying. This momentary peace so rudely interrupted.

“Hey, Sygrun Sea-worn, saddle up. It’s time to head for Runeheim.”