This scene came out of nowhere, and apparently, I had to jot it down. And… it’s in Alrik’s POV. #Interesting
Could this be the beginning of Avelynn 3?
Alrik ran his hand along the worn rail, the wood cool and wet, the mist blanketing the hull in a shroud of silence. They’d all know of his betrayal and exile. Raven’s Blood skulked like a wounded dog, her numbers greatly reduced from her altercations in Wales, though no one would be fool enough to think her crippled. At close to fifty crew, she was still formidable, but dissent and bitterness trailed the aft like a festering dung heap. Those looking would smell it a hundred knots away.
“How much longer?” Tollak leaned his hip against the steering board—the rudder as useless as the compass stone since the fog descended and they’d dropped anchor.
Alrik ran a hand through his hair. There was no splitting the veil. “Another day, perhaps?”
At the least the sea rolled quiet. Despite the otherworldly chill, he’d gladly take fog over a tempest. He glanced around the crew. “How many?”
Tollak frowned. “At least half.”
Alrik nodded. That was to be expected. At least twenty men would stand by him, offering protection for the ship and Avelynn. It would be a good number to present to his uncle Rurik in Novgorod, if he accepted them. Only the Gods knew their fate. The rest of the men would return home to Gotland and Sweden. They owed him nothing.