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... alt wind thick with gull cries.

Vetrúlfr’s fleet crept into the narrow harbor like returning wolves, hulls heavy with grain, iron, bright cups of stolen gold, and darker prizes besides.

Men leaped ashore, calling for kin to help offload thralls and cattle. Fáfnirsfangr lay deepest at the quay, its dragon prow shining where it had been newly polished by the spray.

Róisín stood among the gathered families on the pier. Her red braid wound close to keep the wind from worrying ...

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