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“Kenyak’s Saga” by MikasiWolf (part 2 of 2)

After fleeing the Natives that had so graciously housed them in exchange for marital duties, Kenyak and friends decided they had to find another settlement to take them in if they were to have any hope to survive. Fortunately, their people’s legacy had long laid the foundation for that to happen.

Today’s story is the second of 2 parts of “Kenyak’s Saga” by MikasiWolf, a Singaporean Wolf Mercenary writer. “Kenyak’s Saga” have formerly appeared in the What the Fox anthology, published by Thurston Howl Publications. His works have been published by FurPlanet, Rabbit Valley, Goal Publications among others. You can find links to more of his stories on his FA or WikiFur page.

Read for you by Khaki, your faithful fireside companion.

Transcript
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You’re listening to The Voice of Dog.

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I’m Khaki, your faithful fireside companion,

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and Today’s story is the second of 2 parts

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of “Kenyak’s Saga” by MikasiWolf,

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a Singaporean Wolf Mercenary writer.

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“Kenyak’s Saga” have formerly appeared in the

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What the Fox anthology, published by Thurston Howl Publications.

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His works have been published by FurPlanet,

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Rabbit Valley, Goal Publications among others.

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You can find links to more of his stories

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on his FA or WikiFur page [if this is the second or third entry]

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Last time, Kenyak and friends were driven out of their village in Europe.

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Months later, they were driven out of their new home with the Greenland natives.

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This is getting to be a habit…

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“Kenyak’s Saga”

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by MikasiWolf, Part #2 of #2

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We found ourselves back on the tub we had come to this land in.

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If it wasn’t for the Ruikuk’s courtesy of giving us a head start, we might not have gotten that far.

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For people who were with cub, they ran remarkably fast.

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The boat was just where we’d left it,

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complete with rotten fishnet.

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Once we were well out of bow and thrown spear range, the four of us

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sat on the deck in silence.

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“Great plan, O Unproven One,”

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snarled Velka. “Are you happy now?

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Have your aching loins been thus far satisfied?

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Or do you need another month of them?”

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She jerked her snout towards the land we’d fled. “I don’t

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mind going back.” confirmed Rorik.

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“The Chief showed me things I didn’t know before.”

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“Listen, Velk,” I said.

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“Stop trying to blame me for everything that happened.

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If anything, you should all be thanking me instead.” “Thank you, Kenyak.” said Rorik and Greda. I gave a little bow.

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“Thank you? By the Arse of the Serpent,

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what exactly have you done for us?”

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spat Velka. “If I hadn’t rushed us out of that storehouse to the boat,

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the Picts would have gotten us,”

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I began. “They don’t play nice,

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not with the way they use their antlers to gut their foes.

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Do you deny I saved your tails then?”

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Velka frowned harder.

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“No, but—” “And when we arrived on whatever Gods-forsaken land that was,”

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Here, I jabbed a claw towards where the Ruikuk was,

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“do you deny that the Ruikuk were going to stick us?

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Do you disagree that if it weren’t for my good looks and charm,

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and perhaps that of Rorik’s,

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they would have thrown us back into the sea?

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These people thought we’d been sent to alieve their menfolk problems, and I did my best to play the part.

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The fact they hadn’t had us skinned and roasted

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meant that my performance was more than satisfactory.

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Admit it.” Velka glared back.

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“Admit that you’re nothing but a bed warrior?

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No doubt about that.”

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“Velka, Kenyak did his best.

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As did Rorik,” spoke Greda.

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“Sure, he might have ulterior motives,

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but we have to admit his actions saved us all.

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The Ruikuk have their cubs,

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while we have our lives.

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We were little more than prisoners,

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but we’re now free.”

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And she speaks! That had to be the longest sentence Greda had ever spoken.

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Not unless you counted a drawn-out moan, but that likely counted as a single word.

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The bear was never one for speaking,

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and I had always attributed it to her general witlessness.

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Why else would she be called Greda the Slow?

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Velka’s eyes wavered.

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“Right. But what do we do now?”

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she finally said.

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“Stake it out on our own.

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Live like a true Viking,” I answered with a puff of my chest.

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“There’s so much I could show you.”

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“I’ve seen it all.

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Been there, done that.”

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Velka snapped back.

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A growl built up in my throat as I stepped forward,

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and who should bar my way but Greda,

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arms crossed. “We’re far from our lands, Kenyak.

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We’ll never survive by ourselves.”

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Velka commented.

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“We need to go where other people live,

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and see if they’ll let us move in with them.

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But we’re going to have to earn our keep.”

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“Nothing simpler.”

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I put my paws on my hips.

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“No offense, Kenyak, but it’s not likely your assets are going to be of much use.

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I’m thinking more of

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helping out with their chores like Greda and I had.

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Something you and Rorik are unable to do.”

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I bristled, while Rorik whined pitifully, but again it was Greda who spoke.

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“I heard one of the villagers mentioning there were other tribes to the west of here,” said the bear.

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“I’ve taken note of where the sun set each day, so we just have to go in that direction.”

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She gestured with a claw to an area past the land mass we

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had been evicted from.

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A strip of land loomed far ahead.

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“So we’re sailing with no direction and purpose, just like our maiden voyage?” I asked.

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“Why am I not surprised?”

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“It’s worth a try.”

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“Guess we’ve got nothing better to do.” #

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Needless to say, it was exhausting trying to maneuver the boat towards the land mass which I sincerely hoped would be the end of our journeying.

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We had been evicted from two homes in the space of little more than three months,

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long enough for me to get

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less-than-comfortable over getting milked dry.

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It had all been rather enjoyable,

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and the healer fed me and Rorik copious amounts of herbal tonics to keep our strength up,

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but the fact of the matter was that I,

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like every other Viking

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needed to sheath his sword once in a while.

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As a famous warrior once said,

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“An overused sword will never hold a keen edge.”

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Rorik would likely fight on even if he was totally out of it,

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but I believe you don’t need me explaining why that was hardly a good benchmark for my actions.

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It was late evening by the time we were about 200 feet off the coast of where Greda had said people lived.

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People who hopefully wouldn’t take advantage of two young males in need of tender loving care after having others

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forced upon them with nary a choice.

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Don’t get me wrong,

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I had tried seeking out conquests of my own choosing back in the Ruikuk village,

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but either an overdomineering streak or continuous bad timing

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gave the tribesfolk cause to constantly reject me.

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I was thus satisfied with whatever tail I got,

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even if it was with someone who might have been twenty years my senior.

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The four of us brave Vikings

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huddled together in the center of the boat,

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the unfastened sail our blanket on this cold night.

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In our haste to leave,

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we were unable to bring little more than the clothes on our person,

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which for Rorik and I,

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were no more than leggings. The Ruikuk could be pretty impatient, you understand, so we usually didn’t bother with tunics.

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I made to get cosy with Velka

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—to show her I was sorry, you understand—but a growl and a quick jab down below told me it would be best proposed another night.

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Despite Rorik ripping a haunch of meat off a spit when we ran,

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we didn’t have any food with us,

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so there was little we could do except hope that we could find some berries or roots tomorrow.

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Somehow, I doubted my ability to hunt feral prey with little more than my bare paws and fangs.

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Falling asleep on a boat at night

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had taken on an almost familiar feeling.

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Strange, really, given that this was only the second time it happened. #

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I awoke not to the morning sun,

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but a strange scent that my nostrils picked up even through the fabric of the sail.

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For a moment, I thought Rorik was going at it with Greda after finally being reunited for more than a few minutes,

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but then I would recognize that tang anywhere.

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I gave a deep yawn as I lifted the sail off my head,

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my eyes creasing as Sól,

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god of the sun cast her rays upon me.

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I stopped right in mid yawn.

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Before me were several faces peering over the hull of our boat,

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their eyes bright and curious.

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Their fur was of a dark brown, with small round ears that could barely be seen on the short fur that graced their round heads.

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I gave a yell as I sprung backwards,

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waking my companions.

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When they too looked around and saw the newcomers,

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screams and yells resounded the air.

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The newcomers looked startled,

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pointing their spears uncertainly forward,

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and it was then I realized there were two boats adjacent to ours, carrying four natives each.

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These guys wouldn’t understand any Norse,

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so I switched to the only native language I understood.

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“We mean you no harm.

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We sailor men.

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You not poke us!” I blabbered in broken Native.

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This only seemed to infuriate the newcomers further,

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their fangs showing.

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Jabbering back in a language none of us understood,

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their tone started taking on a fierce edge.

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Their paws gripped the edge of our boat,

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and sooner and later,

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it was going to have to be all paws on deck.

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And by paws, I meant mine alone.

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Velka and Greda had started shaking against each other,

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and Rorik was whimpering worse than the first time he set his tail on fire.

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“Oh, Sweet Odin! Good Freki and Geri!” spluttered Rorik,

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ears flat as he too huddled against the girls.

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“Fenrir, protect us from the evil that befalls us—”

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“You speak Norse?” asked one of the newcomers,

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his spear wavering as he did.

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The four of us froze.

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I then realized I was clutching Velka to myself,

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not that she seemed to be complaining just yet.

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I took what I could get.

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“Já, so we do.” I replied after a pause.

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I didn’t wish for the newcomers to mistake our silence for rudeness,

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not when they were armed and we weren’t.

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“How’s tricks? Is the fishing any good here?”

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Velka turned to me with a snarl.

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“Is that the best you can think of? ‘How’s

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tricks’?” The newcomer who had spoken smiled.

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“Girl, you have to admit your mate’s got balls to remain cool despite spears pointed at him.

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You better hang on to this one.”

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“We’re not mates!”

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Velka seemed to realize where my hands were,

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and smacked them hard enough for me to take them away with a winch.

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“Riiiight,” The newcomer looked at her for another second before turning to me.

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“So what are the whole lot of you doing?

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Our fishermen spotted this boat of yours and our chief sent us eight to take a look.

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Granted, this is the sea,

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but the older otters would say our tribe holds the sole fishing rights to it.”

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Otters. Of course! Our sagas told of a people that were equally at home on Land or Sea.

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It was said that it was from otters that we wolves of the north learnt the ways of the sea,

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and later became the feared fighters others would know us as.

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We must look like pretty sorry Vikings right now,

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without our weapons and gear, and in the case of Rorik and I,

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without upper garments.

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“We aren’t fishing here. We were chased out of our homes,

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and thought we could find a place we would be welcome.”

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I said, neglecting to mention it was twice that it happened. The otter brightened, and with a wave of his paw, had his companions lower their spears. “Come with

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us to our chief. There is much to discuss,” said the otter

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with a twitch of his whiskers.

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“We’ll tow your boat with us.

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I’m Two-Fishes, head hunter of my tribe.

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You are?” “Kenyak, Rorik, Velka and Greda.

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Our honorifics are of no consequence.”

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“If you say so. You people have such funny names!” #

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It appeared that things were finally looking up.

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When we landed on the coast,

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I half-expected to have me and Rorik’s assets checked out,

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but that didn’t happen even as Two-Fishes led us through the village square.

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But it could be the fact that we weren’t species-compatible.

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Unlike the Ruikuk settlement,

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the village of otters were built right over the water,

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with spaces between the planking for otters to quickly surface or submerge themselves

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as a means of travel or search for prey.

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They were a lively people, with a chittering that permeated the air,

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the sound of the waves mixing with the splashes of their lithe bodies through water.

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What would be pathways in an otherwise conventional village

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were boardwalks. I noticed that here, the females were doing the same roles that the males were,

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be it building, fishing, or maintaining the boardwalks.

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I must have been staring too long,

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because one of Two-Fishes’ companions

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caught hold of my arm right before I walked into a gap on the boardwalk.

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“This way,” said Two-Fishes,

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leading us across the wooden path that led into a seaside cave.

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The cave was cavernous, by otter standards,

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meaning two wolves needed to stand on top of each otter to reach the ceiling.

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I couldn’t see any chiselmarks on the surface of the stone, however,

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so the cave had to have been formed naturally.

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Two otters sat by the light of what I would know

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as an oil lamp, running their fingers through the entrails of what could only be fish.

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Unlike the others,

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these two had paint markings of blood and crushed earth,

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and I wondered how often they had to reapply them whenever they decided to take a dip.

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Two-Fishes stepped up to the larger of the otters

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and whispered to him.

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The Chief turned to us,

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his eyes lighting up.

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There was something about otters that made you feel like prancing about in joy;

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be it in the way they walked, along with other mannerisms.

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In the Thaneships,

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and the tribe we had briefly been guests of,

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leaders tended to carry a certain stature apart from the other folk,

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almost as if behaving how others did was a crime.

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But this Chief had none of those frills.

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“Norsemen? Come here, come here!”

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The otter opened his arms in a hug,

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and embraced us in turn.

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Despite his size,

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his head barely came up to chest level.

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Velka looked sharply at him,

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but the other otter at the table, a female,

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came up and accorded Velka and Greda the same greeting,

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alieving her discomfort.

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“Well met, well met,” said the Chief.

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His Norse was impeccable,

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which made me wonder how fluently it’s spoken here.

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“I’m Chief Wallei of the Whalehunter Tribe, and this is my wife

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Chieftess Mattri.”

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A nod and a smile from the female otter.

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“I lead the men, and she leads the women.

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An arrangement that keeps everyone happy.”

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“That’s good to know,”

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I gave a glance at Velka, but she ignored me.

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“So, Norsemen. I understand that you’ve been driven from your homes?”

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Wallei’s whiskers skewed in questioning.

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Velka and Rorik made to speak,

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but I, the spokeswolf for our motley array, cut in.

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“I wouldn’t say that.

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We left because the conditions of our home suited us no longer.

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It was, for lack of a better word,

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getting rather tense.”

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“Two couples eloping after their parents discovered their love for each other!

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Of course I understand!”

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Chief Wallei beamed.

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I raised my eyebrow. “What,

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you think we haven’t heard of your sagas?

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How else do you think we can speak your tongue?”

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“Pardon me, Chief, but how did your people first get to know of it?”

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I asked, starting to get a little confused.

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Maybe the four of us had died out at sea after all,

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only to drift into some Valhalla or Fólkvangr where the natives could speak Norse.

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Somehow, I doubted that.

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“Tell me,” Chief Wallei paced about the cave, brushing off the remnants of whatever he had been handling off his paws.

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“Have you heard of a place called Vinland?”

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Vinland. Vin-land.

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Of course. I remembered one of the countless sagas my people had this habit of telling.

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Given that it was usually recounted after a bellyful of mead or wine,

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no one actually took the tales seriously.

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One of the sagas told of my people travelling to a place far to the west

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after having been blown off course.

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Through the grapes and berries they found there—all the better to make wine with

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—they named the place Vinland,

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with “Vin” being an allusion to wine.

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But the details of my people leaving the place was shrouded in mystery,

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a mystery drinkers in the mead hall

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weren’t too inclined to solve.

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“You may have to enlighten me on that.”

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I said. “And my companions too.”

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Chief Wallei gave a knowing smile,

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and led us deeper into the cave.

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Here, the roar of the sea was louder,

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such that I had to flatten my ears to keep them in working order.

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Chieftess Mattri held up a lit oil lamp

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which Wallei took.

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Here, the light illuminated the paintings on the walls.

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They had been painted in natural colors,

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such as white, brown and red.

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“About twenty summers ago, we found your people sailing off the coast of our land,”

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said Chief Wallei,

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gesturing towards a scene.

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In it, what could have been several longships

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drawn by a six-year-old cub could be seen,

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though I didn’t comment on the artistic style.

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“They were wolves,

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but not the same as the ones further inland.

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We were curious about them,

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and it was some time later that we started trading.

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“Then your people settled in an area.

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There, we continued trade, and soon learnt of their ways.

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They were skilled fighters, that was for sure,

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and many of us wished to learn the ways of war from them.

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But it was not to be so.”

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Chief Wallei looked grave

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as he moved on to the next scene.

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Here, a painting depicted eight figures

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lying stiffly upon the ground.

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“One of the People reported that the Norsemen slew eight of their number,

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and only he survived to carry on the tale.

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It was thus without question that my ancestors decided

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your people didn’t belong here.”

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I turned to the next scene,

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and bit back a whine.

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Several figures, wearing the unmistakable pattern of chainmaille

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could be seen running away from several figures

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brandishing spears, swords

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and kite shields

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abandoned as they fled.

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Their arms were thrown up in fear,

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tails curled between their legs.

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“This looks familiar.”

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confirmed Rorik.

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“I can explain—” I began, but Chief Wallei raised a paw.

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“There’s no need. It was poor judgement on our part.

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Shortly after the Norsemen fled,

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another tribe sent their warriors to seize our lands and fishing grounds.

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They were wolves,

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each stronger than any two otters,

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and it was only when our females fought alongside the males

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that our enemies were defeated,

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but not without great loss.

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We then knew that should the Norsemen have been here,

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they would have been able to counter this threat to our people.”

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Rorik looked about to inquire if the enemy tribe was the one that had so recently kicked us out,

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but I didn’t want him ruining our chances just yet.

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“You could be right, Chief.”

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I said, but Chief Wallei

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hadn’t finished. “It is said

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that prophecies are best found in prey that had travelled throughout the world, and fish is no different.

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I had read the entrails of many fish,

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and they told us that someday,

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men from the direction of the setting sun

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will come to these lands.

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The four of you have been sent to train us in the ways of war your people

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are legendary in!

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It’s not by chance you came as couples,

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in order to repopulate these lands with warriors worthy of your people!”

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“Train us, Norsemen,”

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asked Chieftess Mattri urgently.

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“Train us, and you’ll always have a place with our people.”

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I opened my mouth to deny us being warrior material,

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then realized this could be our chance to start a new life.

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After all, I did have some basic training in spears, axes, and shields,

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the first two of which the otters would be able to provide.

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Velka had been a daughter of a Thane,

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and so would have learnt some of the basics.

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As for Rorik… We’re just going to have to keep his incompetence a secret.

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“But of course, Chief and Chieftess.”

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I said with my most winning smile.

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A smile that had gotten me out of trouble,

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and into bed with many.

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Not that I was trying to bed these two;

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it would be a scandal even among the most open of peoples.

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“When do we start?” #

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Eight years later…

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I sat upon a log that overlooked the Whalehunter village,

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rubbing my hands over the fire as I took in the sight before me.

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In the years since we’d arrived,

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the otters had been more than welcoming.

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It helped that they found my basic weapon skills satisfactory enough to incorporate into their training regime.

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To my initial horror,

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they insisted that Rorik got involved as an instructor.

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As luck would have it, Rorik’s

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impression of a drunken warrior convinced the Chief

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it would be of great use

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entering a trancelike state.

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Something that could be easily achieved

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ever since I showed the otters how to make wine.

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As for Velka and I,

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we got along fine.

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She knew that for all my efforts to repopulate the Ruikuk,

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I was only trying to do what I thought best,

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and we settled down in a house we built together on a cliff that overlooked the village.

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She could never stand the smell of fish guts.

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Rorik and Greda lived nearby as well,

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and it would be remiss of me to say

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that his house would never have been complete

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were it not for the help of me and a couple of outgoing villagers.

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A builder he wasn’t, but then,

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there were few things Rorik were.

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I looked up at the sound of rustling grass,

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and right on time,

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Rorik approached.

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He had just completed a bout with several of the warriors,

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and were it not for his inherent lack of judgement,

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he would have quit a long time ago.

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Fresh bandages and salves could been seen on his brow and limbs. “What’s up, Rorik?” I greeted. “Up?” As usual,

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Rorik turned his head to the heavens.

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“Looks like a sunny day, Kenyak.” “Good. I hope

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it stays that way.”

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Excited barking came from behind me,

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and as a pack, my four cubs crowded around Rorik,

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leaping and prancing all about him.

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Rorik gave a half-smile as he patted them,

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which was much harder than it looked. “Uncle Rorik! Uncle Rorik!

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When is Greda going to have cubs?”

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asked Kayak, one of my own.

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I had named him partly off my own name,

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and it was only a year later that I discovered I had named him after a type of native boat.

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The native sensibilities must have rubbed off on me.

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“I don’t know, Kayak.

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Greda and I had been wondering for the last eight years now.”

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replied Rorik. I shook my head at this.

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Despite me and Velka’s efforts, we could never convince Rorik that wolves and bears were just not biologically compatible.

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Not that there was a lack of trying.

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“Cubs! Leave Uncle Rorik be!

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He’s still exhausted from training!

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Go play somewhere else!”

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barked Velka. The cubs growled and whined,

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and soon they were all over me, trying to see who could nip my tail and get away with it.

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“Rorik, remember to get those dressings changed tomorrow, alright?”

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“As I always have.”

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Rorik nodded, heading back to his hut.

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“Good day, husband.” said Velka, coming up to stand beside me.

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I turned quickly to her.

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The years had been kind to her, in more ways than one.

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Of all the wolves I would find myself on a boat with,

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there were few I would rather have with me.

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She had a sharp tongue,

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but was also a good wife and mother,

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which was more than anyone like me deserved.

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Within her belly was what would be my fifth cub.

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After Velka caught me in bed with one of my otter students,

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she had thundered if she wasn’t good enough for me.

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What she didn’t understand was that good students had to be rewarded accordingly.

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I made it up to her however,

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with the cub in her belly as proof of that.

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The native’s lifestyle and diet had kept me in good health.

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“Good day, Velk.” I answered.

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I turned my gaze back to what I had been gazing upon.

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“What are you thinking about, Kenyak?”

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asked Velka. “Every afternoon, I see you gazing at the

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sea. Were you thinking about your home?

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Or about how it was through it that we first arrived here?”

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I nodded. “We Vikings are always connected to the sea.

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Our lives flow upon it like the ice floes of the north.

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Just as the sea was our means of escape from the Picts and the Ruikuk,

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it was also the means which we found a new place we could call home.

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A place that my wife and family

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can grow up healthy

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and safe.” I gave her a nuzzle.

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Velka gave me a lick. “I love you, Kenyak.”

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“I love you too, sweetie.”

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Velka went back to the cubs,

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who had by now engrossed themselves in

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who could knock all the others down.

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Just like their father,

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they were warriors through and through.

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When I first started out on this odyssey,

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I had been known as Kenyak the Unproven, purveyor of uncharted lands down below.

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But so much had happened since then.

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The flight from the Picts.

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My gift of many future warriors to the Ruikuk.

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Our invitation to train the Whalehunters in the fighting arts.

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My marriage to Velka,

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with the occasional tryst to keep me sane.

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But with all my deeds and successes abound,

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I believe that I’m now deserving of my new title. Kenyak the Proven, He who Trained and Conquered.

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Down

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on the beach next to the Whalehunters’ village,

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several female otters lay sunbathing upon their backs,

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a tradition I had brought to the community.

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Whenever time permitted,

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I always made an effort to gaze upon this glorious sight;

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a sight worth travelling across the world for.

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This was the the #2 of #2 parts

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of “Kenyak’s Saga” by MikasiWolf,

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read for you by Khaki,

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your faithful fireside companion.

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As always, you can find more stories on the web at thevoice.dog,

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or find the show wherever you get your podcasts.

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Thank you for listening

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to The Voice of Dog

About the Podcast

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The Voice of Dog
Furry stories to warm the ol' cockles, read by Rob MacWolf and guests. If you have a story that would suit the show, you can get in touch with @VoiceOfDog@meow.social on Mastodon, @voiceofdog.bsky.social on Blue Sky, or @Theodwulf on Telegram.

About your host

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Khaki