VIKINGS
Ragnar Lodbrok paused, observing the figure below him in silence: Floki was crouched next to the half-built ship, muttering in his low, guttural way, balancing like a haggard bird on the very tips of his toes.
The ship builder hovered with long-fingered hands pressed against either side of his long, shadowed face. Dark, beady eyes glared at the wooden struts of the half-finished longship as if they would simply quail under such a loathsome stare, break their stubborn silence and speak.
The flat of Floki's palms moved to the well-crafted curve of the longship's prow, clutching and flexing tightly as he pressed his forehead against the planks. "Nix won't, she won't feel – the curve – carries the waves - "
Ragnar felt his shoulders tense, almost unbidden; the farmer knew that he would get no sense out of the man while the foremost thing on his crowded mind was the shadowy figure referred to only as Nix.
Nix belonged to the sea, Floki had declared once, in a startling burst of angry lucidity that had left Ragnar reeling. But I will build the ship that masters the seas. And then she will be mine again.
Author's Note: The idea that Floki builds ships because of a deep obsession with the taming the sea took hold of me, and this is what resulted. In two minds about whether to continue or leave it as is.