Day 2, Mourned In Runes

Colors were laiden all around me. Both men and women wore there most decorated and colorful garments today. Dalla a respected elder and women from our village had passed away, and her burial ritual was just hours away. Bearing my gift I approached the family of the late Dalla. I had carved them a prayer for Dalla in runes around the edge of some woodwork. Often times runes were sloppy and mistakes were common. But my inscription was further from perfection than any I had seen. My embarrassment must have been apparent on my face for their response was more gracious than I expected.

Day 4, A Day of Trade

We sailed to Gotland today to acquire some ornaments and sell off some of my father's iron work. The waters were fairly calm today, though it still churned my stomach like the froth upon the waves. I threw the feeling from my mind and focused on the placement of the rudder. My father said I had been born of the sea and so I would grow to be a great boats-man. Apparently it was true because it wasn't very often someone as young as myself steered the ship. The waters stayed tranquil throughout the journey and we arrived without trouble. I had been to Gotland before, but never had I seen a horde people this large. It was as if a sea of persons covered the Earth. Our weapons would be of no use to us here, too many people and too many guards, today we traded fair. My father's work was well known here and although he brought just a few trinkets I came to realize that the silver wrapped about my arm was not going to be needed.

Day 3, Harald's gift

My father, Harald, taught me today in the arts of blacksmithing. We started with the easier metals, bronze and gold. My first project was a bronze anvil necklace matching the one my dad wears around his neck. The molten bronze sizzled as I poured it into the same clay mold my dad used to make his anvil necklace. The cooling process was nothing but anticipation. I waited for what seemed like a whole season for the metal to cool. The grooling anticipation was short lived, for there was one more honor my dad had in store for me. He picked a dull piece of iron which looked like the color of the darkest moors just outside Fyrkat. What could possobly come of something so drab and uninspiring? It was plunged into the furnace until it was glowing brighter than the sun. He then lied it upon the anvil clanging his hammer down hard upon the sun laden metal. Sparks gently danced from the iron celebrating with every strike from his hammer. *CLANG*.... *CLANG*.... *CLANG*.... the sound echoed with every swing creating a musical hum for the sparks to dance to. I was shocked at the beauty this once stodgy metal produced. After many long hours of aweinspiring work it was finished. It was hard to believe that the dark iron had become as brilliant as anything I had ever seen. The blade, though hiltless, stood as bold as the strongest men in Fyrkat, and it was to be mine.

Day 1, A farmers life...

Waking to the damp and wretched stench was a daily effort for me. Luckily a warm cup of goats milk was awaiting like a smiling sun to my awakening. And it was considering no light peered through the windowless longhouse that belonged to the family. The slaves were already up doing the daily work when I dawned my biege linen tunic. It was a mild day in Fyrkat, sun trying to peek through the cloudy blanket that covered the sky. Today was to be a day of fishing and hunting. But my mind rambled elswhere, for today, if time premitted, was my first day of runic studying.