The sun peered through the window, as I turned over to my other comfortable side.
I let my hair fall past my face, and stretched. It was time to get on with the day. As a child, I loved when the sun rose, signaling me that a blessed day was to be about.
After having grown, I now know the displeasure of the morning, and the responsibility that came along with it.
Now, every time the sun rises it feels as though an omen has been cursed upon me, nothing but pure sheer discontentment.

"Mira!" A low voice bellowed, nearly shaking my entire bedroom.

I groaned and sat up. I ignored every aching part of my body that willed me to stretch.

I stumbled out of bed, nearly tripping over my own feet. I pummeled down the stairs to find my father sprawled across the wooden chair in the main room.

The room smelled foul, and by the looks of the empty mug in his hand, I had an idea what he had been up to.

Very carefully, I approached him and softly forced the Mead from his hand.

"Mira! Why isn't the laundry finished? Why are we out of Mead? And why isn't breakfast cooked?!" He shouted at me.

I sighed and placed the mug onto the kitchen table.
"That's because its the early hours of the morning, and I just awoke, father." I replied, turning to face him.

Father, slouched forward his drunken eyes hardly even open, and bloodshot red.
"You're up now, aren't you? Why isn't anything done?" He grumbled in disapproval.
I chewed on my bottom lip, and crouched down to the wooden bucket, rinsing the foul reminents of Mead from the mug.
Of course, my father was a little demanding... in a fearful way, and sure he had a wee bit of a drinking problem, but since the day I was born to him, he had never struck me, or ever tried to.
However, he was a real careless man, always doing things his way to get what he wanted regardless if anyone were to be hurt in the process.
"I'm starting them right now, father." I reassured as I reached over for the empty pail.
Father watched through narrow slits as I trudged up the stairs to change.

After having changed I collected all of the dirty tunics, vests and other fabrics that seemed soiled and walked out the door.
Our tribe called ourselves the Rus.
Compared to other tribes, we had the best water supply.

Our village was surrounded by the best water Thor had to offer.
Needless to say, our chief, Rurik, had to attend dozens of different meetings with different tribal chiefs, almost every other month or so.
It was never said to me whether or not other tribes could step food on another tribes land for non business affairs, but I had no interest in finding out.
Considering the rumors that were spread about, it wasn't a pleasurable experience for the individual.
The sun warmed my skin once I stepped out, and most of the villagers were out, carrying about their business.
I clutched my empty pail of unwashed clothes close to my body as I made my way down the busy plain.
I was fortunate enough to live down the hill from the lake. There, I was able to catch fish in one pond for food, and wash up in the other. Majority of our local village house wives were up there around the same hour of morning to start off with things that had to be done. Although, I was not a housewife, I was the only female of the household. Mother had left, when I was only a babe. No one has heard from her since. I can't remember much about her. All I could remember, was a smile in the warm candle light, and then never seeing her again. Thus, my father began his drinking routines.

I wiped the sweat off my forehead and hunched over for a quick breath.

After having climbed that hill dozens of times, I couldn't find myself to grow used to the routine.

There were several other women already at the pond, washing up the last bit of laundry.
I scrunched my nose slightly. There were usually a lot more women up here. Compared to any other day, the hills were unnervingly dead. I wondered what the special occasion was.

I placed my pail beside the water, and descended to my knees, pulling out the first tunic that I could get my hands on.

I dunked the tunic in the water, pushing the fabric against one another, scrubbing as much as I could.

I hummed a nonexistent tune to myself while doing so, I found it made tasks like these slightly more enjoyable.

I tilted my head as I wringed out the wet piece of clothing and placed it beside me.

"Quite the voice you have there..." a soft voice, emanated from behind me.

Immediately, a smile touched my lips in an eminence of grace.

"Hello, Birla. " I replied, turning my head to greet her.

Birla offered me a warm smile, her brown hair cascaded down her shoulder with stress. Over the years the luscious brown had taken its toll, and the gorgeous copper that it once was, now had intruding grays.
She placed her pail a few feet away from me, and descended to her knees. In a matter of minutes, we were both washing, and scrubbing in sync.

"Its a bit dead here, isn't it?" She breathed, trying to make conversation.
I pressed my lips together into a tight line.
So she had noticed too.
"Yes, I wonder what the occasion is. . ." I mused, my voice keeping low.

"I hear there's another meeting with the chief tomorrow." She explained.

I raised a brow, and shook my head.
"I didn't know that." I informed, as I wringed out the next peace of clothing.
I tried to keep my mind from wondering, that way she'd think I was interested.
I really didn't care for political affairs.
I didn't feel the need to know, the few things that happened in our village.
Of course the rumors were enough to inform me of the slightest ordeal that was going on.

"Yes." She continued. "I hear the chief of Berk, and his son are to be visiting to sign a treaty."
I furrowed my brow.

"Berk? Isn't that the village that's supposedly training dragons?" I asked, plummeting a new piece of clothing into the water.
Birla laughed. "Who knows? The girls around here talk so much, its hard to tell which is real, and what isn't. "
I nodded my head in agreement.
"The chief of Berk, and his son are to meet with Rurik, and Berkhildr." She explained.

I could feel a small lump in my throat.

Berkhildr. Rurik's only daughter.
Despite that she was the chiefs daughter, her and I were close friends.

Although she was very well liked in the village, I chose to keep that fact a well hidden secret. Why? For reasons far too complicated.
"Do you know what the treaty's for?" I asked.
Birla shrugged as she wringed out a thin fabric shirt.

"There are so many things that are being said about this. " she replied.
I sighed in disappointment.
"So I'm guessing women are preparing feasts for this event?" I mused, folding my last wet piece of clothing.

"I believe that's true." She said shrugging her shoulders slightly.

"What are you ladies up to? Chores eh?"

I could feel a cringe, as well as the cringe from other women who were around to hear this as well.

I looked back to see Gordon.
Gordon was the Ruriks brother, and also his adviser.

Gordon was a very unpleasant man. He liked to belittle women, he was very abusive , and because he was the chiefs adviser no one really questioned him.

Sometime ago I remembered him married. The marriage was arranged by the chief of another tribe.
After being married, her tribe abandoned her, almost immediately, like they wanted to be rid the poor girl.
His wife was nice, she had dark black hair, and soft green eyes.
Often she'd show up to wash on the hills, more and more she'd bear ugly bruises.
One day, she limped up the hill, other days she staggered down. We had all suspected something was up, but there was nothing we could do about it.
One morning, while we all washed on the hill... his poor wife, never showed up.
And the warm days after that, she never showed up.
We had all stopped seeing her around the village altogether.
It was as if she had fallen off the face of the earth!

It wasn't long before Gordan was back out on the village plains, eying every maiden that had walked by him, announcing that he no longer had a wife.
And we were told to forget about her.

And now, here he was... on the hills, for only reasons Thor knew.

"Finishing up, actually. " I replied, stuffing the damp clothes, into my pail.
I hoisted it up onto my shoulder as I stood tall.
Gordon smiled, and approached me slowly, my heart beating wildly in fear.

Gordon was not attractive, he was very thick and tall. His black beard covered majority of his face, and all his teeth were green, except for one.
Gordon had one glass eye, and an ugly scar that seemed to go across his face, which he claimed was a result from his encounter with a deadly nadder.

I held my breath as he gripped my chin, smiling, showing off all his gruesome teeth.
"And where ye be off to, lassie?" He bellowed, his hot breath clashing with my face.

I swallowed hard. "To finish other chores for my father. " I answered, avoiding eye contact.

He chuckled, some saliva tricking onto my face.

"Aye... you'd be loyal, eh?" He breathed against me.
Although I wasn't actually looking at him, I could somehow feel his eyes on me, and the manner in which he looked me, made me sick.

I forced myself away from him, which seemed to have angered him.

"Leave er alone Gordon. " Birla, said as she stood up, holding her wet cloak close to her body.
Gordon looked at her, his eyes darkening, the lines around his lips, deepening.
He clenched his fists until his knuckles were white, as he started to slowly approach her.
I glared at both of them, trembling, fearing for Birla.
"Aye." He breathed, eying her in disgust. "Women, should be seen... not heard." He finished, expelling a wad of spit onto her freshly washed cloak.

He turned, carefully eying me in interest before disappearing into the forest down the hills.

I let out a heavy breath I had been holding, and ran straight for Birla.
"I'm so sorry! You didn't need to do that for me!" I cried, reaching for her cloak to rewash it.
Birla offered me a soft smile. "It was the right thing to do. You'd do it for me."

I staggered down the hill, with my heavy pail, grunting as I held it tight to my body.
I stumbled through the front door, and dropped the bucket on the floor, hunched over to breathe.
I dragged the pail over to the backyard, to hang up the wet clothes. The sun was out, I had expected them to dry quickly.
Father was out at the Mead-hall again, it was rare he ever was sober. Almost every morning and night he was drunk.

I cut up a few pieces of raw fish, and started a small fire, to fry.

I sat on the kitchen wooden chair, and looked out the window, mindlessly picking at my food.
I cleaned up the utensils I used, and quietly went outside to check the clothing.

The rest of my day passed by uneventfully.
By the end of the night, I was in bed on time, my father, of course was not home.

A lot of the times it felt as though I lived alone. Doing all the cooking, cleaning, and entertainment for myself. It was lonesome.
I pulled the blanket over my face and stared at the ceiling, and closed my eyes. It took awhile, but sleep finally overcame me.