The village was aflame. Screams filled the air. Our horses and riders were covered in crimson. We only took a handful of Thralls. Ragnar Ravnsson had taken a young boy who was almost a few years younger than Ragnar and I, he was put into Ragnar's and I's care we had to protect him and teach him our ways. The boy fought us at first, but every time he was knocked back he found his strength. 

A few years later... 

We galloped across the grassland together our horses racing each other, we were supposed to be hunting, however, we had lost the hare we were chasing.  We made it to the top of the hill and together we looked down at the farmstead that our fathers had built. The palisades hid our home from view, we were protected. Smoke rose from the middle of the village. "I think we're being called back," Uhtred said. 

"Since when do we ever go back on time?" I reminded the pair rising in my stirrups stretching my legs.  

"That's your fault," he said. 

"Is not," I said nudging my Icelandic horse forward. By the time the sun was beginning to set we rode through the gates. My father and Ragnar's waited around the fire for us.  We dismounted our steeds and the Thralls took them from us, I sat down next to my father. 

"How did the hunt go?" my father asked tapping my knee. 

"We didn't find anything," I said playing with the raven skull that hung around my neck, we all looked at each other and chuckled. 

"I am guessing it went well," my father said. 

"Uhtred, I see you still wear your Moljinor," Ragnars father said. 

"I do," he said. Ragnar and I exchanged glances. A shiver danced down my spine, I wrapped my arms around my torso, my father took off his thick black wolf skin and draped it around my shoulders. 

"I told you your armour is not thick enough to keep you warm," he said. I shuffled closer to the flames I watched them dance in the gentle breeze of the night, the wood glowed as the flames ate at them, it creaked and cracked joining the chorus of the whistling wind. Every night Ragnar would retell the story of our battle of Bebbanburg, Ragnar and I listened intently. My father would boast about my party of men and Ragnars did the same in return. My gaze always wandered to Uhtred, he always sat with his head in his hands. I understood his pain, the boasting stories of war were never pleasant especially if a battle was lost. 

When the tale drew to a close Uhtred and I took our places outside the gate, guarding the farmstead. My horse fidgeted as did his. "Do you enjoy your fathers tales?" Uhtred asked looking at me through the darkness. 

"Of course, I have grown up with tales of the battles he has fought," I replied. 

"And your mother?" he asked. 

"She too feels the same," I said. The rest of the night we stood in silence, the wind howled and whistled around us as it washed in and out of the cracks in the palisades. When dawn made its way over the land and warmed us I found Uhtred slumped against the neck of his horse. I nudged him in the arm before my father could find him, I would save him a beating.