Thorbjorn
I smelled the friar, a greasy, sweaty scent tinged with mead. Rolf and I would have hunted him down if it weren’t for the little female standing in our way.
She trembled where she stood, fists clenched at her side, her voice barely above a whisper. Her scent reminded me of honey. I longed to touch her...
Rolf barked. A burst of activity by the hearth had me whirling. I deflected a heavy pot before it hit my arm.
“Leave her alone!” A dark-haired girl quivered in the corner, reaching for another pot. I barked a laugh.
Sage backed away, and my attention snapped to her. She slipped through a door and disappeared.
Another pot sailed out—this one at my head. A Berserker slapped it down, darting into the kitchen.
“I’ve got this one.” A warrior named Haakon pushed past me, heading
