Styrbjörn had lagged behind, and he knew that he would miss most of the action. Regrettable, but not disastrous - there was certain to be fighting aplenty before the journey was done. The enemy's homes were in flames, so the archers would be less of a threat. However, there would be little loot. Styrbjörn sneered in disappointment and upped his pace, following the horses' smouldering trail in sprint. The sound of screams and clashes was dying down, and the aging warrior lowered his guard as he entered the village.

Strewn across the ground were the bodies of his enemies, dead or dying, and he could hear the chief cry victory. Sighing, Styrbjörn slowed his pace to a stroll. There was no longer any point to running, so he felt that he may as well look around. It turned out his looking around was successful, as he found that several of the dead savages had pieces of jewelry on their person. They must have raided a more advanced settlement lately - oh yes, that's why the vikings were there in the first place.

Picking his way towards the others, Styrbjörn arrived just in time to hear his chief's command. Relieved that he had not arrived ten seconds later, he raised his hand in an acknowledging gesture. "Aye", he called in response, and hfollowed is leader. They were thinking the same thing, the berzerker and the chief - Odin, don't let the mead be gone! Around his right arm, Styrbjörn wore the spoils he'd gathered, eight-or-so armlets, bangles and bracelets of bronze and silver, with the occasional inlaid piece of amber. No point in hiding them - you had to make a living, after all.