Relief flooded the clan and released outcries of joy and nervous laughter. “My people, my children”, Hog Morsan exclaimed, “we can stay here”.

Hog Morsan had come to a tentative truce with the Alpha. With the one look they shared, terms were exchanged:

• No killing and eating humans, no killing and stuffing dragons.
• No stealing of dragons eggs, no stealing of babies and human stuff.
• Eat vegetables besides meat, so the local wildlife can provide both Vikings and dragons of enough food.
• Just be good neighbors – you can do it!

So, with that out of the way. We’re re-building the stronghold, drive away the death people smell, sweep some skeletons out and start our new life here.

After the first elation of the moment lessened, people started to investigate their surroundings.

The more grumpy members of the clan moaned about missing roofs, holes in the walls and dragon poo in the sleeping quarters, not to mention the skeletons in closets - and everywhere else. Ah well, there’s always room for improvement. The majority of clanspeople was a bit more adventurous and enterprising. They had to admit that the bones of the buildings, which made up their new home, were still strong.

As the Hjarn Knackars rolled up their sleeves, the settlement quickly started to show signs of improvement. The truce with the dragons offered a peace of mind, which freed up energy. Energy which earlier was burned up in fleeing and worrying. The tribe had never been this productive. Their industrious activities were observed with great curiosity and wonder by the dragons. Dragons, big and small, which kept getting in the way, as they smelled the freshly cut timbers, snapped at the moving brushes, pushed down a newly built wall and ‘accidentally’ ate one of Mus Rattanson’s sheep. This might be annoying, but didn’t slow the clan down much. Within a week the settlement was transformed beyond recognition.

A pretty large clan must’ve preceded them here, as houses stood empty even after all clan members had claimed one for themselves. As the one legged rooster, you know the one which compensates by being up earlier than any other rooster, starts cackling at the rising sun, the village slowly wakes up.

Singrid had fought desperately to be able push back the attacking enemy however it was in vain, the clan was forced to retreat. Many had not made it out alive she was a lucky one, but only because one of the other warriors forcefully pulled her way from the battle field.

She had spent the last week, since arriving here, cleaning and fixing up the place she called her home. Deciding, since there was extra space, to move out from the family that raised her and live on her own. It had been something she had been planning to do anyway. Seeing as she had hit the age where finding out what happened to her old clan was at the top of her to-do-list. Though with the recent attack on the clan she now called family and friends she was getting the sense that this happened to her own clan many years prior. She also assumed that her clan had not been as lucky and probably hadn't made a grand escape. This thought irritated her, and she chucked the last of the debris out the door only for it to hit a random dragon that have been seated outside watching her.

The dragon snarled at the red head to which she seemed to snarl back. "Well if you weren't in the way maybe you wouldn't have gotten hit." It seemed all Singrid ever did was get irritated at the curious beasts around her. Sure the dragons fascinated her, however their own curiosity caused them to get in her way. Just the other day she had been training with her axe and had nearly taken one out that got to close. This of course ended in the hot headed female yelling at the beast to get out of the way. She had been angry for a solid week and had done her best to keep busy and not yell at every one around her.

“No! NO! Shoo, shoo,” Freyhild waved her wooden spoon in the direction of two baby Nadders that had come back again to sniff around the big pot of stew. She was trying to cut some more carrots to add to the stew but couldn’t even finish that without having to run to protect the steaming pot frequently. “Go away, you dumb beasts,” she mumbled, knowing that it is meaningless. They either didn’t understand or just chose to ignore her.

“Here is your water,” a child brought a bucket from the well. Freyhild was cooking outside today, under a makeshift shelter that threatened to collapse any minute, especially as more dragons were sitting on it, peeking curiously.

“Thank you, Halfdan,” she replied to the boy, but he ignored her just as the dragons did.

“Aww, look at those, aren’t they the cutest!”

Freyhild turned around only to see that the Nadders returned, one now hovering right above the pot, waving its wings rapidly. Halfdan was softly nudging the other one, giggling playfully. The dragon fought back, bumping his head against the boy's stomach, knocking him to the ground. Soon they were rolling in the dirt, consumed by their pretended fight, squeaks and giggles coming from that pile of arms, legs and wings. “STOP IT!” They were too close to the pot, it seemed like they were going to tip it over any second.

The wooden spoon came down a couple of times, hitting random limbs entangled on the ground. The dragon waved his wings flying out of her range, hissing angrily. “Go play somewhere else,” she told the boy, trying to stay calm. Normally she would threaten to talk to his parents, but she knew all too well that he probably didn’t have any. Too many adults died fighting, too many orphans now wandered around the new village. “Go tell the builders that the stew is ready, they can take a break to come and eat. Grab a bowl for yourself as well. And you,” she turned to the dragon still hovering over the pot. “If you come any closer to that stew, I swear to Odin that I will just chop you up and throw you right in!” She wouldn’t do that as it was against Hog Morsan’s orders, but the dragon didn’t have to know that.

The pounding of hammer on an anvil in a steady beat had already been heard from before the rooster had crowed. To Erik it always sounded like music. The fire in his forge was burning hot and beads of sweat had formed on his forehead and arms. He had woken early that day, earlier than normally, because he had a lot of work to do still. Orders to fill. Ever since they had gotten to this new place they would call their home, there had been enough things to do. They needed nails to rebuild, hammers needed to be repaired, shovel blades forged and new hinges for the new doors. At least he had not been lacking the materials to do so and both smelter and forge had looked intact when they had arrived near a week ago, though the walls had to be rebuild but that was not something new. The place had been a real mess. What had happened here, Erik did not dwell on that topic long, his mind occupied with more important matters.

The roof of the house adjacent to the forge, the obvious choice for Erik to call his home, had collapsed on top of the previous owner and it had taken quite a few days before the rubble had been cleared out. Especially because of those pesky creatures he had to shoo away every now and then. One of them had even dared to eat the ores he needed for smithing. Both him and the dragon had roared loudly at each other but the only thing that had happened was that more dragons had come to look what was going on. After staring at Erik for some time, their eyes locked, the dragon had flown off with a last growl and had left the blacksmith alone. For now.

Erik grabbed a tong and put the nail he had just made with the rest. After all this was done perhaps he could finally make some swords or axes once more but for now he had to be happy with making whatever the clan needed from him. So much work still to do and so little time. He wiped the sweat from his forehead, got on his feet and stretched his back with a groan. His stomach rumbled and his throat felt dry and longed for a mug of mead and some food. But could he leave his forge unattended? He shrugged and sighed. Working on an empty stomach is never a good idea so he went to look if he could find something to quiet his hunger.

"Stew, steeewww, stew, stew, stew!", Halfdan yelled as he ran throught the settlement. As he ran, he collected kids and some of the smaller dragons in his wake. His vigor and loudness attracted them to him, like Vikings to an easy plunder. The other children took over Halfdan's chant and the dragons added flapping wings and chirps and squeaks to the hullabaloo. As this morning parade passed the homes of clanspeople heads popped out of doorways and windows. The racket easily drowned out the sounds of hammers, saws and other diy-sounds. There was no ignoring it. Halfdan was doing a great job getting everyone's attention.

People wiped off the sweat and the dust and stepped out in the meagre sunshine. People knew. They knew that, whenever there was a great pot of stew of offer, it would most certainly be parked at Freyhild Grimsdottir's. And it would be good. Freyhild knew her way around a cooking fire, pot and ladle. As yelling Halfdan and his loud entourage went one way, a much calmer procession went the other way. A small chinking and tinkling of bowls and spoons joyfully making their way up to Freyhild's house.

Soon, the whole of the village assembled at Grimsdottir's cooking fire. Everyone was cheerfully chatting away at each other, as they sniffed up the promise of a full belly. Hog Morsan looked around with guarded relief. She'd feared that her clan would never smile again, after the massacre by the Romans. They'd lost so much; parents, grandparents, children, confidence, innocence, even sanity. But now, here, this place seemed to have some healing effect on the Hjarn Knackars, despite it's obvious violent past. This place seemed to have been cleansed, albeit violently. It, like her clan, was ready for a fresh start. As she pondered this, she smiled at Freyhild, showing her appreciation of Grimsdottir's initiative. She, also, had lost so much. A small tear escaped Hog Morsan's eye as she thought of Thorsten and Kjot.

Attracted to her mood, a small dragon - she didn't know what kind - curled up in her lap. 'And then there are the dragons', Morsan thought. She was convinced that they too, had a healing effect on her fellow clanspeople. They were curious, playful and surprising. How cute they might be, especially the smaller species and younger specimens, Hog Morsan understood that these were wild creatures. It made her wonder what awaited them here. 'Ah well...' Practical as ever, Hog Morsan shook her head lightly, to clear her head. The small creature on her lap scampered off, as she rose and walked over to Freyhild. As she came to stand next to her, Old Morsan laid her wrinkled hand on Freyhild's arm. "Smells good, hon'", she said. "You've worked a miracle again". Grinning she waved about at the assembled clan. "You did this. Do you feel the lightness, you've created here?" Peering deep into those stormy grey eyes, Hog Morsan added: "Thank you Frey'".

As the village gathered, Freyhild could finally take a moment to sit down and rest, watching them from afar. They were a small village, all the faces were at least familiar. That way she could see that every group that stood there, eating and chatting, had people missing. Family members, friends, fellow craftsmen. She liked how the village held together, the builders worked not on just their own houses, but helped anyone who needed to; Freyhild had no idea how she would get her roof and holes in the walls fixed on her own. Kjotve always took care of that kind of thing. She chased away a memory of him swinging his hammer, singing a worn-out song in an incredibly lousy tone. She didn’t want to think about his smile now.

The dragons seemed to be omnipresent, sniffing around empty bowls, stealing a bite or two out of those still full, carelessly set aside by their owners. It was surprising how quickly the people got used to them being around. Freyhild wondered what the dragons would do if the attackers followed them here. Would they fight and protect them? Or would they just disappear and wait who would win, coming back later to sniff around their bowls? Dark thoughts for such a nice day. Freyhild frowned, she found out it helped her to fight the tears off.

When Hog Morsan came to talk to her, Freyhild bowed her head in respect. “Thank you, but it is just a stew. It can hardly be called a miracle. The people are working hard, I figured they needed a proper hot meal to keep their strength.” But it was satisfying to look at. “It would have been done a lot faster if it weren’t for all these damn dragons getting in the way,” she grumbled.