Washed by the waters of the River Trent, the deck of the
longboat was wetter than it had been anywhere previously on this journey,
not from the foam-capped waves that had barraged them in the North Sea or the heavy
cold rain that had drenched them as they'd crossed the wide fjords of home. It
seemed more than a little incongruous to be bested by a muddy-brown tidal river in this new land which, so
far, wasn’t looking particularly promising.
‘Are you sure coming here was such a good idea?’ asked Olaf,
frowning at the thistle-riddled meadows stretched out on either side of them.
‘Not sure, no,’ said Erik, grimacing in reply. ‘But if we don't like it, we won't stay long.’
‘Not sure, no,’ said Erik, grimacing in reply. ‘But if we don't like it, we won't stay long.’
Alison Mott
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