It wasn't raining that day, but the sights the young girl looked upon made it feel like it was. There wasn't a building that wasn't on fire, or simply a charred ruin. There wasn't more than a few spots of green or yellow grass not marred by the blood of the Clan.
The few people in the foot paths of the once town didn't walk them, they hunted. Like the Beasts, they sought to kill any who still had the nerve to refuse their fate.
Such would be the fate of any that lost a Challenge perhaps, but none had been given. Perhaps it was the single reason she burned with anger rather than loss. For now, the flames of vengeance burned in her as she marked the banner of the Clan that broke such ancient traditions, Clan Bloodaxe.
Had she her father's strength, his Megin, she would have likely charged into the field to cleave the honorless barbarians with wood axe and fury. However, she hadn't stepped on the path of a Warrior, and barely had any Wyrd from her hunts of simple creatures.
Her father, the greatest Warrior on the island, had promised to help her reach Drang as a Warrior when she turned 12. So much for that promise, she thought. For he lay broken upon the center of the once town.
She focused her thoughts away from distractions as she carved the image of the traitors into her mind. The one with the large, bone axe standing over her father's body had to be the Bloodaxe Chief. She didn't know his name, but wouldn't forget his frame and that axe.
Turning away she ran into the forest, and climbed one of the large spruce trees which were common on the islands. A few crushed needles scattered around later, and she was confident enough her scent wouldn't be traced to the tree.
She might be 10 but her father was a Thegn Warrior, the second step of Warrior, and he wouldn't have kept his only child in the dark about surviving. Only foolish fathers and mothers coddled their children in the various Clans of the islands.
The islands, the Veil of Yimir, wasn't a place where anyone wasn't prepared to live in the forests or hills for a few weeks. Possibly without much food if a Beast was present. Anyone who wasn't usually died young.
Breathing slowed, as she focused what little Wyrd was in her body. It wasn't enough to see more than a vague golden mist near her heart, but the meditation would help to further mask her presence.
It was all she could do until she was willing to risk checking on the village again. Which meant she might be up in this tree for a while. Which also meant, it would give her time to plan, prepare, and ready herself. Because she was going to have to gain Wyrd for vengeance, and that meant Beasts.
---
Ingrid wasn't sure how much time passed before she snapped back to lucidity. She heard the sounds of the forest again, birds, rustling leaves, and the like. That usually meant that danger was gone, or it was hiding very well.
It was long enough that she was thirsty, and of all the things to need, water wasn't to be ignored. Which is the only reason she carefully climbed back down the large tree.
Stolen from its rightful place, this narrative is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.
Peaking out between the branches in various points on her climb. With no hints of hidden dangers, and no sign of the thick smoke that had called her back home early. It had to have been a fair number of hours since she ran. It wasn't cowardice if you had no chance of winning.
She should be happy her hiding place wasn't discovered. Yet, she couldn't feel anything but a hollow ache. It just wasn't right for them all to be gone so suddenly.
Part of her imagined they were all be going about their day when she got back. Laughing at her for sleeping so long in the forest when there was a soft, straw bed for her at home.
Her eyes hurt as her father's laugh echoed in her mind. Then it was burned away as the rage consumed it. She wasn't a child to moan the loss of family. She wasn't going to hide from the death brought by those honor less bastards.
Shaking her head to banish the part of her hoping for the best. She pulled her axe free from the loop on her belt, and crept towards the remains of her home.
It was just as broken as it was when she left. Smoke still rose from a few places, but otherwise it was the same vision from within her heart. The scene would be carved forever as far as she was concerned.
While the Bloodaxe Clansmen seemed to be gone. Ingrid knew that someone stayed behind to catch those who had been out during the raid. While it was unlikely they wouldn't be a Thrall Warrior at least, the entry step of a Warrior. They hopefully wouldn't have the ability to chase her down. She was small enough to fit into some tight places after all.
With her heart beating within her chest, she crept through the dirt paths of the place she once called home. Tears tried to come out again, but she fed those feelings to the flame of rage within her. It would feed well this day, and for many days after, eternally if she could help it.
Few were the laws all agreed to follow in the Veil of Yimir, and the Challenge was one of them. It was a rite from before the islands were surrounded by the deadly storm, and many considered it the only thing left from that age. The Gods didn't visit these lands anymore, and the only thing keeping most to the faith was Wyrd.
Ingrid let her mind drift, slightly, to the lectures the elders often gave about Wyrd.
---
Elder Ragna had said, his beard braided in the fashion of elders, The last said with a touch to the heart.
Usually, this is when someone asked a question about why everyone wasn't a Warrior or Shaman if Wyrd was so plentiful.
Followed by a long...LONG lecture about history and honor before he got back to the topic.
---
Ingrid was snapped out of her memories by the sight of glinting metal in the late, evening light. While not sunset, it was still a dangerous time of day when shadows lengthen and made it hard to see movement. Luckily, it wasn't a guard or sentry she spotted, but the edge of a familiar axe.
Creeping over to the burned and blacked boards of a house. She moved the chucks of charcoal aside carefully, to prevent too much noise, until she revealed the metal.
It was her father's axe alright, blackened by the smoke and ash, and missing its handle. Though wood was an easy thing to carve down. That the metal was still here was a mystery as the metal of a Warrior's weapon was usually special.
She decided it wasn't worth spending too much time on, and made a quick search around the burned homes. Many had root cellars to would store potatoes or cured meats for a snack. Sadly, most had been burned out.
In the end nothing but scraps remained of the once, proud town on the bluff. She gave it a final look as she stood back on the hill near the northern woods. Then, she was off, vengeance started with a hunt, and it was one she had hoped to make with her father.