Spring came, and with it, the ice that had trapped the ships in harbor broke and melted away, rejuvenating the sea, and the god who ruled its waters and winds.
Vetrulfr knelt in the heart of Ullrsfjörðr, just below the motte where his great hall loomed. Brynhildr, robed in fur, bronze, and wool, painted a Tiwaz rune on her son's forehead, eyes closed as she channeled the spirits riding the spring wind.
The paint she used was blood drawn from a sacrificial bull offered moments earlier to the god of justice, war, and honor.
Behind Vetrulfr knelt a wall of shield-brothers, clad in iron brynja, hardened leather lamellar, and bearing thick, laminated wooden shields. Iron splinted wrapped their forearms and shinbones alike, providing added protection where the shield would not.
Each man held his spangenhelm beneath one arm, the blade of his sword resting point-down in the earth, as they circled the seiðkona performing the rite.
