When I woke up, I half-expected to be in a hospital bed, or at least some sort of mad scientist's lab. Instead, I saw a ceiling made out of wooden logs and planks, and I was in a bed with bars - a cot.

I sighed. So, the dark and warm place was my new mother's womb, and I had reincarnated. Not what I was expecting at all. Then again, I had probably drowned as the boat was flipped over.

As I inadvertently recalled the feeling of water filling my lungs I felt before reincarnating grimly, I felt extreme hunger. Which meant since now I was a baby, I needed to cry and get help. The prickly feeling of my empty stomach helped me overcome the humility I felt as I cried for help, and soon enough, a man appeared to come and pick me up.

As the man carried me over to the bed beside me, I observed my possible father. Rugged looks, with a series of scars over on his forehead with white hair tinged with blue. Then, I was carefully put into the arms of my mother, and well, she fed me. I closed my eyes during the ordeal, but the pure warmth I felt behind the words of my mother made it feel less weird, and more like a natural thing. Right after I finished, I felt sleepy yet again and went back to sleep.

The same process repeated itself for an unknown amount of time - I woke up, cried for food, got fed, went to sleep. I managed to get over the shame of having to be breastfed and instead focused on the unknown tongue my mother and father spoke. After all, this was going to be this new language I would have to use for the rest of my foreseeable future. I learned some words, like their names and my name: Father was Bjorn, Mother was Reidun, and I was Ingolf. I think the names sounded Norse, or something close to that, but I still had no idea where in the world I was. Judging by the scars and the wooden cabin we seemed to live in, though, it looked like I was living somewhere in the wilderness. I still hadn't gone outside, probably the same reason why I still felt cold from the safety of my cot - it was freezing outside, and definitely not fit for a newborn baby.

Other people occasionally came by, but I would still remember the shaman. He was an old, wrinkly thing, with a very long beard that had metal accessories tied into it that jingled whenever he walked, creating an eerie symphony with the trinkets tied onto his staff. I still remember vividly of a particular charm he had - one of a crescent moon, and another of in the image of a howling wolf. He waved his hand over me, tossed some animal teeth, and said something in a quiet voice that made Father and Mother look at each other in relief.

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As the days blended by, I started being fed some kind of plant and meat stew, grew more stamina and started staying awake longer. A LOT longer. This meant in order to stave off my boredom, and to have more mobility, I practised crawling inside my cot. It was surprisingly difficult, because my own body was just so weak, and I had to figure out the proper coordination between all my limbs to properly crawl. When I finally did, though, both of my parents were so surprised and proud of me. In fact, they fussed and praised my achievement so much that my own pride over the thing turned into embarrassment. Still, it was nice to have such pure, unfiltered love directed at me. When was the last time this happened? I couldn't even tell. I also practiced talking, but it was always a jumbled mess, and I could never pronounce Father's name - it was a very tough name to pronounce for a baby.

Father took trips sometimes - I'd wake up and fall asleep over twenty times before I'd wake up again to his rough hands, and sometimes snow dripping down on my face. I would stare up at him in mock astonishment at the snow covering his hair and beard as he chuckled while pinching my cheeks. Slightly annoying, but still made Mother laugh and shake her head at the antics.

One day, when Father was away on a particularly long trip, I'd finally managed to stand up (albeit with support from the wall). My mother let out a little scream of pure joy, which in turn made me smile and laugh, too. While we were stuck in our little bubble of happiness, something sounded throughout the village - a horn of some kind - which made Mother gasp and start dashing for her thicker clothes. When she was finished dressing up, she turned to me, thought for a second, and shrugged - then starting wrapping me up in thicker pelts. My heart raced. Did this meant I was finally going out into the world outside the cabin?

Indeed, I was. Even through my layers of leather, the cold wind blew at my face with a stinging sensation. While I stared in wonder over the tall trees that surrounded the houses including mine, my mother had arrived at a large plaza with a pit in the middle of it. It seemed like the whole village was there, including the old shaman in the cold weather. And I could soon tell why.

Beyond the wooden walls of the village I could see in the thick forest several men running like the wind. They arrived in front of us shortly, paused for a second to catch their breath, and whispered something to the shaman. This caused the shaman to raise his staff and shake it, causing a small cacophony of noises from it, which made all the villagers cheer. Most of the voices sounded rough, but I could tell that they were pretty much all female.

'Where are all the rest of the men, then?' I thought.

The men appeared shortly after the cheering stopped, carrying their prize. And I finally realised that perhaps my new life wasn't in the Viking Age, or even my old world again.

For their prize they carried started with a stag the size of a small house, held by only a single person on their shoulders.