Møyfrid couldn't help but revel at the lightness in her center as she stood with the others, in anticipation of the fight to come. She could still feel the edge of the herbs that she and her band had smoked and thrown onto their dying fires only a few hours earlier. She wanted to move. Her stomach fluttered for a moment as some unknown worry tugged at the back of her mind, like a misstroke on a harp. But it was only a second, so faint that she just blamed a bad herb in the smoke.

The morning air was a maelstrom of sound. The crops around them still smoldered. The wind tousled the mighty oak trees that surrounded the clearing. Ravens had gathered in the trees, chattering in their loud cacophonous way.

And then there were the sounds of men; every move they made added to the ambiance preceding the fight. Mail (for those who had it) cried out with joy at even the slightest shuffle. Shields nudged each other as their carriers shifted.. On the edge of the clearing, a large blackthorn tree had been recently cut down; it was the only silence to be unheard. . It had no voice when the wind ruffled its dying leaves. The silence of the blackthorn tree drifted over all in the clearing, waiting to be released.

Again Møyfrid's stomach fluttered as she waited. She stood shoulder to shoulder with men she had know since childhood. Some had been boys she had played with and others were uncles and friends of her father: old men, who were still old. Every time she stood with these men was different, there were often new faces but more often there were familiar faces missing. This time it was her father's face that was missing. Before, she had come on these adventures with him – this year, she was his replacement.

She squeezed the hilt of her father's sword. Her own small axe hung on her belt, along with a tiny knife that was more for gathering herbs and cutting meat then fighting, but if needed it could still be an effective weapon.

An uncle was to her right, her mother's youngest brother, and to her left was Bjørn, her husband. He turned and smiled when she saw her looking at him. She turned away, straightening her back and puffing out her chest. She heard him chuckle and she couldn't help but smile, slightly drunk on her luck. They had known each other since childhood and had always been close friends. She looked back at him, trying to be subtle by turning her head slightly, but when she did, she saw that he was still looking at her.

"What are you looking at?" Møyfrid said gruffly.

"The sun," he said, "And her beauty is blinding."

"That's dramatic," Møyfrid said dryly.

Bjørn was short compared to most for the men she knew. In fact, he was shorter than Møyfrid, not by much, but enough that she had teased him endlessly when she had first realized it. He had finally had enough of her teasing one day when they were fishing, responding by, with little exertion on his part, picking her up and throwing her into the lake. She had swum back to shore as he followed in the boat, not letting him help her even as the cool summer breeze made her shiver as she walked home. Her father had taken Bjørn's side when she had told him what had happened and after she recovered from the cold she'd gotten, she had apologized to him.

"If I'm the sun what does that make you? The moon?" she afforded him.

"Skoll," he answered.

Møyfrid snorted.

"But Skoll only catches Sol when the world ends," she countered. "You have me now and the world hasn't ended."

He opened his mouth to respond but was cut short as the enemy appeared.

First were a few of the most well prepared fighters, they were the only ones who appeared ready. Then the rest of the men gathered behind them. A handful of archers had climbed onto the thatched roofs of the building nearest to the edge of the town. A bell rang from the church and the archers on the roof prepared a first attack.

This town was harboring a criminal, a man who had been sentenced to death and had escaped. Eventually, those who had sentenced him had learned of his existence here and had sent a messenger with a letter proclaiming his crime as an enemy of man, but they had refused to give him up and Møyfrid's band had been sent to reclaim him.

The archer's attacked.

"Shields up!" Erling, another uncle and leader of the party, shouted from the back of the group. The shields rippled up, protecting everyone beneath them. From the shadows of the forest, their own archers retaliated, aiming less at the men and more at the roofs they stood on. Their arrows had been wrapped in cloth and soaked in pitch. Before they were launched, the archers dipped them in embers, setting the ends on fire. The enemy didn't notice until it was too late and, not being prepared to put out the fire, the roofs quickly surrendered to the flame.

In the chaos, their enemy scattered . With the archers taken care of, (or at least out of their perches) the wall dissolved as Møyfrid's band charged its enemy.

Møyfrid drew her father's sword, fatally wounding a man before he fully realized what was happening. The last thing he would see in this world were the ice-grey eyes of a madwoman before him. She wondered if he would have even realized she was a woman.

A wicked smile spread like poison across her face as she saw the fear flicker in her next opponent's eyes. He quickly put it aside, and launched himself at Møyfrid. He was a strong opponent but Møyfrid was faster. She got inside his guard when he misstepped and quickly knocked into him, disrupting his balance. As he flailed, she struck as his center with her sword, killing him.

She looked at the fight around her, a majority of the men had been killed and her band had moved into the town. She saw Bjørn on the edge of the town and went to meet him when movement in the forest caught her eye. She turned and ran after the figure, not knowing if the man they had been sent after had been killed or captured. She jumped over the short bushes bordering the forest and onto open forest floor. She wasn't far behind him but he hadn't noticed her yet. She was also faster than him and she quickly caught up to him, slamming her shield into his back and sending him flying forward.

She waited for him to stand and face her.

"Only cowards run when their kinsmen fight," she said taunting him. Møyfrid didn't even know if he had understood her.

"Then I won't run, I've made my peace with God," he said, drawing his weapons: two thin blades with a delicate curve.

"That crucified God, how can he protect others if he couldn't even save himself," Møyfrid said, feeling a shiver run down her spine as she realized this was the man her band had been sent after.

He attacked first, slashing at Møyfrid. She stepped to the side and then back as the opposite sword came at her from the other direction. One sword he used to block her blade - the other he slashed at her under her shield.

Frustrated, she backed away, dropping her shield and taking out her axe, knowing now she could match his speed better.

Møyfrid quickly adapted to his style, avoiding some of the fancier moves he tried to bait her with. She saw no opening and so she misstepped, baiting him to rush and create a striking point.

It worked.

He opened up his center just for a moment and Møyfrid struck, driving her sword into his chest. His knife, however, grazed her, cutting her cheek and down the center of her chin. The attack was weak and made only a shallow cut. She knew it may not even scar.

He was not quite dead yet so Møyfrid finished him with a few blows to his neck. His head would be removed later. She wiped the blood from her hand on his tunic not bothering with her face. She wanted her hands clean as she stripped his weapons from him. She removed his belt and took the knives from his hands, resheathing them. For now, she fastened the belt around her waist, knowing that was the easiest way to carry them, and slid the small dagger he had had tucked under his belt in place. She sheathed her own sword and put her axe back under her own belt. She stood, going to get her shield, enjoying the weight of it all but feeling slightly silly carrying it all.

She knelt down, bracing the shield against the ground to put it on when she was stabbed in the back. She cursed in pain as she pulled out her axe and turned, wildly slashing at the presence behind her, almost blinded by rage and pain. Her attacker screamed as the axe left a long, deep cut over her chest.

All the color drained from Møyfrid's face. The little girl who had stabbed her had fallen to the ground, her hands already covered in blood. Møyfrid forgot about her own wound and tried to help the girl, not sure what to do. She looked back to the fight for help and saw Bjørn. She cried out and there was a sharp pain in her neck that cut her off.

Bjørn looked towards the forest and Møyfrid's reached for the pain in her neck, pulling out a small metal arrow with a needle point. She looked up and saw Bjørn headed towards the forest.

She felt sick now, unable to keep her balance, and dizzy. She began to lose focus, black creeping at the edge of her vision, but she saw as Bjørn was attacked. His opponent struck him, stabbing him with a spear. She saw as he fell and she screamed.

She could hardly see and couldn't stand up, but she tried to run for him, tripping quickly and trying to stand again. She felt something grab her, like an arm being wrapped around her waist. She turned to fight whoever was holding her but saw only the forest canopy above her. Then a metal mask appeared.

Møyfrid couldn't hear anything except her heartbeat pounding in her ears as she clawed at the mask above her. She knew she was screaming and cursing the Valkyrie to let her go. She couldn't see now but the image of the Valkyrie mask was burned into her mind's eye, she could feel her soul being pulled apart and separated. She felt herself being divided as she lost feeling in her physical body.

The last thing she felt was being lifted and carried, but a wave of dizziness destroyed all chance of Møyfrid processing the movement as anything other than movement as her body finally surrendered, cutting her off from the world.

So I don't know if I'm going to continue this story but I liked the idea of Predator's and Shield Maidens whether or not the latter actually existed is a whole other debate. This is also and experiment for me explore the Pr-Christian ethos and mindset of a heathen world. Am I doing it justice? Probably not but I thought a story would be a nice way to help me puzzle some of these things out. So let me know if you'd like me to continue. ^^