the Viking

The Viking



“What are you, some kind of demon?” the Viking winced as he stared at me across the tall blades of grass.

The sun was high in the sky and was tanning the back of my neck as a cool calming breeze blew across the land. The sounds of violence that had filled the air only moments ago, were now a soft silence.

I had just left his men, the best of his fighters a bloody mess at my feet. I had traveled many miles from my homeland of Brighthelmston to kill the Viking for the murder of my lover. I traveled to the land of Normandy across the English Channel in the hopes of painting my sorrow and loss with the blood of the Viking Hoard.

“No more talk, Viking I’ve come a long way to take your life.” I calmed myself and stared him in the eyes.

I knew I had already won. There was fear in him. My eyes turned red as I gritted my teeth and ran across the field at him. His eyes widened in fear. I jumped up and my blade shined off the light of the sun. I came down fast and swift. It was an easy kill. My blade went right through his body. Blood fell from the steel of my sword and stained the grass red.

Taking the man’s life did not bring her back or make me feel any better but it did stop his path of destruction. Now what of me? Was I no better than the Viking that I killed? I did not know.