Calm and easy, slow breaths and deliberate steps Leif silently chanted within his mind. He was slowly edging around a small building that sat just on the outskirts of the village. When the battle first erupted he had been scouting to ensure that a savage assault force could not come up on their flank while they were preparing in the woods. By the time the scouts had been dispatched and the savage force began to move into the woods the young warrior had already left his horse grazing at the forests edge, well beyond where the fleeing foes had emerged from. As the archers had begun to form themselves up to assault the vikings when they charged across the open field, Leif had reached the building he was now edging around and had taken a moment to prepare himself.

He was not the biggest warrior in the party, in fact he was more than likely the smallest. Standing only five foot ten and being only sixteen winters of age he was dwarfed by most of his companions in both height and experience. He was not a battle hardened veteran but a boy who took to the field to avenge his fallen father who had died fighting another tribe of these very savages when they had attempted a raid in mid winter. He had been given his fathers battle gear, most of which was too large for him and had to be reforged.

Now he stood behind a crumbling stone building wearing the steel hauberk, which bore the hammer of Thor in gold links on his chest, his father had once owned. Over the chain shirt was a tanned ox hide vestment hemmed with tufts of rabbit fur. His long black hair was tossed by a strong gust of wind, his head remained unprotected as he felt helmets defensive benefits were outweighed by their obstruction of vision. Slung over his back was the wickedly curved sword his grandfather had won in wars across the sea, and strapped to his waist were the weapons of his own craft - seven small, double edged daggers. Each designed with careful precision such that they would fly straight and true if thrown properly. Held firmly in his hands was a wooden buckler covered with deer hide and simple spear.

He knelt down and leaned around the corner to get one last take on the situation before assaulting the savages from behind. As he looked he found himself staring into chaos, the distinct crackling sound of the young fire that had begun to greedily engulf the village reached his ears. The parties steeds were charging through the mass of savages, trampling those too slow to react and scattering the rest. Trailing the horses was more flames, which leaped hungrily to the fences and wooden structures as the beasts of burden sailed through the village.

Leif didn't waste a moment, with a fierce war cry he charged from concealment into the mass of savages. Hauling his spear over his head he drove it hard into the chest of the nearest foe. A bearded man who was trying desperately to string an arrow against the viking boy. Not wasting time to remove the spear from the corpse, Leif reached over his shoulder and pulled his grandfathers sword from the leather rings that held it loosely to his back. He drove himself deeper into the mass of bodies, swinging his blade mercilessly.

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