Unnr sat in the house with Hvitserk and Sigurd; Ubbe was off somewhere with Margarethe. "Where did you go?" Sigurd demanded when Ivar crawled through the door.

"Unnr, come with me," Ivar ignored his brother.

She rose from her seat to follow Ivar. "I'll see you guys later."

"Wait!" Sigurd stopped them. "Being rude to me is one thing, but don't be rude to Unnr."

"Sigurd, it's fine," Unnr said.

"It isn't! You left Lagertha to stay here with us; with him," Sigurd protested.

"Sigurd, I appreciate you deciding now that you want to look out for me, but you are the only one here who has a problem," Unnr hissed. If he didn't stop, Ivar was sure to attack.

"Yes, brother, there is no problem," Ivar sneered. "Come, Unnr."

Sigurd sat back in his chair glowering as Unnr left.

"Peace, brother," Hvitserk said. "You need not worry about Unnr." Sigurd quirked and eyebrow and Hvitserk continued, trying his best to explain. "I think she likes the way he talks to her; the way he treats her is their foreplay."

"Now you've lost me, brother," Sigurd scoffed.

Hvitserk sighed. "The morning we left with Björn, Unnr was late because she spent the night with Ivar and she was covered in blood – goat's blood – and she was happy about it. Whatever is between them is something we cannot hope to understand."

Meanwhile, Ivar brought Unnr to the edge of the wood, but refused to tell her what this was about, only that he wanted to show her something. "There," he said, grinning. "Floki made it so that I may ride into battle alongside you and my brothers."

It was a wagon of sorts, but sleeker, smaller with only two wheels. "Like Þórr," she smiled back. "Though I hope you have something faster than goats to pull it with."

Ivar rolled his eyes. "It is pulled by a horse and with it I will strike down many men."

"From what I recall, you don't need any help when it comes to killing," Unnr pointed out.

Ivar grinned wickedly. "True, I have always been quite good at that. Especially when it was for you."

Unnr sat on the damp earth next to him as they spoke. "When did you first kill a man?" she asked. They rarely spoke so calmly and it was nice to lean her head on his shoulder while he gently held her there.

"I was six, I think, seven maybe," he answered. "All the young boys were playing in the streets, running and tossing a ball. My brother passed it to me, but I did not catch it and it landed in my wagon. Another boy came and took it. And I put an ax in his head."

"But that was not when you realized blood made your prick rise," she said.

"No," he chuckled. "That came later. And when did blood make you wet?"

"When I met a boy who would kill for me. Who could pin me down and take me whenever he wished," Unnr smiled, nuzzling closer to him.

Ivar laughed. "I cannot wait to burn down England with you."