Master of My Sea


It's been a while, I know, but to be perfectly honest, not only did I have a lot going on in the month of October, but the lack of feedback from the last chapter was a bit discouraging. Second guessed myself a bit, until I convinced myself the reason why no one reviewed last chapter was because it didn't really have any ivar/kara moments. Besides, I realized that I like this chapter too much to not publish it.

So, one thing I will say in this chapter...yes, I may have... took a major inspiration from the movie Brave in this, but I couldn't help it, okay? It's my favourite scene in that movie, and I had all the ingredients to put in this story. So before y'all point that out, I'm just sayin'... it was intentional and I'm calling myself out on being unoriginal XD (sorta)

Anyway, thanks for those who did favourited and alerted, and a shout out to the tumblr crew who wanted to give this story a read (:


chapter six:
THE VIXEN'S SCREAM


Bjorn had found himself abandoned by his father, which did not surprise him while simultaneously aggravating him. Ragnar had been slipping from grace ever since they left for Paris, and just when he seemed to be gaining his health, it was his mind that had gone instead. By the time Ironside had returned from the mountains, he no longer recognized his father, which gave him an undeniable amount of disappointment. He wanted, more than anything, to live up to his father's expectations, but now Ragnar failed to meet Bjorn's.

Despite his father flaking away, Bjorn found himself content with the company that was plopped into his hands. Hulda's daughter had come to remind him of Gyda, but far less timid. He was sure if his sister was still alive, she would be a lot like their mother, who Kára also reminded him of. So, Bjorn came to enjoy the girl's company, enough for them to stray away from the market place and towards the thicket that wrapped around the city border, both engulfed with conversation.

"I've never seen a bear that size," Kára shares after Bjorn had finished his story about what he endured during his survival retreat.

Bjorn glanced down at her as they walked side by side, "But you've seen bears?"

"I live in the forest," the girl stats matter of factly, "I see them at least twice a season. Mostly mothers and their cubs. I try to stay in the trees until they pass by." It wasn't often that bears would come in the clearing of her house, but when they did, it was usually adolescent bears trying to find food. Bears of any age could do a lot of damage, but cubs and juveniles were easily frightened away if you give them enough of a scare. Kára explains to Bjorn that when they do come near them home, she hoists a large scarecrow with a stag skull mounted on the top, and then blows on a horn until they get frightened away.

Bjorn lifted his eyebrows in mild impress, "Clever. It sounds like you take after your father."

"I would like to be, but," she gave a long sigh and looked at her feet. "I know so little about him. I know what he did, and how he died. I know nothing of how he was, how he talked, how he walked, how he fought… nothing. I would not know if I was taking after him, with so little knowledge of him."

Bjorn's mouth fell into a firm line. He pitied the girl for the life she could have had with both a father and mother, and even a brother. He did realize how isolated she was until this moment, and it seemed like her mother helped little in the regards of knowing who she was, and where she came from.

"I did not know your father personally, but I can tell you what I remember about him," Bjorn offered, earning Kára's attention. "He was a smart man, and worked in a way that was five steps ahead of his enemies. He and my father weren't as close as he was with Floki, but Ulf's loyalty to my father was just as iron bound as any man in my father's warband. Ulf believed in Ragnar, almost as much as Floki, but his faith in him never wavered. As a boy, I remembered him to always have a smile on his face, but that changed when Eirik was killed during Jarl Borg's raid of Kattegat."

"Who was Eirik?"

Bjorn was surprised by little after he returned from the mountain, but Kára's question had slowed down his strides until she was just a little ahead of him. He looked at the back of her head, his mind alert at her ignorance. Surely she would know the name of her brother, even if she was not born when he had died. Would Hulda really deprive her daughter the knowledge of her having a brother? Perhaps she knew she had one, but simply did not know his name.

Kára turned to him when she noticed his gait had slowed, but also waited for an answer that he was hesitating to answer. Bjorn did not know if it was his place to give that answer, or at least a truthful one, if she truly did not know she had a brother. He thought, for now, he would play along with her ignorance, and simply say, "He was a good friend, and a good man, just like your father.

Kára turned around and sighed, "It seems like everyone in the past were good men and good friends. Why does this not ring true when it comes to men of today?"

"I would not glamourize our fathers; not all men or women of the past were noble or honourable. My uncle had betrayed my father once, out of sheer jealousy, and in the end he had paid for his crimes when he became shamed by his people."

"Floki told me about Rollo," she replied. "How he redeemed himself when he saved Aslaug and your brothers from Jarl Borg's invasion. In comparison, he is more honourable than most."

Bjorn peered down at her before pulling his gaze up ahead, "You are talking about someone specifically, I take it."

"Perhaps," she admitted, her nose flaring up in slight agitation.

"And perhaps, it is one of my brothers?"

Her head spun around at him, almost giving herself whiplash from how she had to crane her neck. "How do you know that?"

Bjorn couldn't keep his mouth in a straight line when he made the observation. His teeth flashed in mild amusement, "Of all the youths in Kattegat, it is my younger half brothers who have all the reason to be insufferable. They were not raised humbly, not like I was. I was a farmer's son before I was a King's son, or an Jarl's son. But Ubbe, Hvitserk, Sigurd and Ivar, they were raised as princes, and do not have much of the humility nor the knowledge that you and I have grown up learning."

"And what knowledge do you speak of?" Kára had turned back around, listening to Bjorn intently.

"Survival," he replied simply. "They never had to learn how to defend themselves, or their home. When I was your age, my mother and I had to defend our farm from strange men often, while Ragnar was out raiding. And you," he nodded towards the forest that circled them. "Defend yourself and home from bears."

Kára couldn't help but smile at herself, and then up at Bjorn, "I suppose so. Though, if they want to bring any honour to their father's legacy, they should learn now. They are men, and I'm sure Ragnar will want to take Ubbe and Hvitserk to Paris this summer."

Bjorn nodded, "You are right. We can start today."

The girl stopped and looked up at him again, her brow knitted as she repeated him: "We?"

Ironside stopped as well, "Yes. You and I. Their place of training is not too far from here, and I'm sure they are spending the afternoon there as the Longhouse is full of visitors today. If we are lucky, we will see them there."

"What makes you think they will take any training advice from me?"

"I believe you will find a way to prove your mettle, Kára," Bjorn walked by her, a little east of the direction they were heading. "Nothing will motivate boys their age more than when they see a girl that is better than they are."

Kára suddenly pictured the face of Ivar when he watched from the sidelines as she plants every one of their errors right into the bullseye from various distances. Then, he would surely feel like him owning her bow is a great disservice to such a fine crafted weapon. The redhead found herself smiling from ear to ear as she skipped over a rock to catch up with Ironside's long stride.

X X X

Ivar was thankful that their training area was not within public eye. He did not want more people witness his incompetence and failures. For years ever since he had shoved the axe into the skull of that boy, people looked on him in fear. He would rather people kept to that, instead of looking at him like a waste of skin, like a failure, or worse, look onto him with pity. He could endure Sigurd's taunts and chuckles - that he was used to, despite it always getting under his skin. But the shame of being watched by others would cripple his pride, and his pride is the one thing he refused to be crippled.

Despite Ubbe's tips on using a bow and how to aim, it did not help Ivar. For every arrow he let let loose would wobble in the wind and land pathetically in the grass, five feet away from the intended target. His cheek now had a red mark and a welt blooming from when the string slapped him. If he weren't wearing wrist guards, there would be even more welts on his wrists. After his thirtieth arrow had just skimmed the border of the round target and landed in the bush, Ivar groaned loudly in frustration, his fingers curling around the limbs of the wooden bow threateningly.

"I would say you will be better off sewing, Ivar, but maybe your eye can't even see the hole in the needle if you can't even see a giant target 20 feet in front of you," Sigurd smirked to himself as he brought his whetstone to his sword.

"It's this bow! It's shit!"

"A bad workman blames his tools," the commanding voice of Bjorn shook the training area, causing all movement to freeze and silence. Their oldest brother entered with wide shoulders and a leader's gait, one that he rightfully earned. Ubbe, Hvitserk, and Sigurd stopped what they were doing and went over to their older brother. He had returned a few nights ago, but they had not gotten a moment alone, since Bjorn found himself preoccupied with something he wouldn't share. Ivar remained sitting on the cut tree trunk, stationary in his spot for obvious reasons, but also sulking at Bjorn's comment.

"Bjorn!" Ubbe reached his brother, and clapped him on the biceps. "Where have you been? You have to tell us what happened up in the mountains."

"We heard that you fought a bear," Sigurd added just as Hvitserk came up behind him.

"I will share the tale with you, my brothers, in due time. But, today, I thought we could help you with training, since," he sent a glance up to his youngest brother, raising his eyebrows playfully. "You four clearly need it."

Ubbe and Hvitserk both scoffed, while Ivar scowled and went to rub his cheek in shame. It was Sigurd who looked at Bjorn and asked him to clarify one detail.

"We? Who is we?"

"My friend and I," The viking turned around just in time for a girl in a blue dress and apron approach the clearing from the opening between two trees. She had orange hair in a plait over her shoulder, and the three who stood looked at her with confusion. Ivar tried to hold his ground and glower in the opposite direction, but the silence drew his curiosity and he turned around. The muscles in his face slackened at who stood there, for he did not recognize her. She was clean, her hair was no longer a mess, and there was a natural tan on her skin that hid under dirt before. Not to mention she was in a dress that was clearly too small for her. The skirt cut too high, and stitching clung tightly at the seams, her growing body threatening to break them. It gave her the illusion of curves and femininity that was not quite there yet.

It was Sigurd who deduced it quicker, "Kára? Kára Ulfsdóttir?"

"That would be me," she stood awkwardly next to Bjorn, looking at the three and only glancing at the fourth for a split second.

Hvitserk eyed her and then his half brother, "A girl is going to help us train? What does she know about fighting?"

"I know that your wrist guard is on backwards," she snapped back and then worked over to Ubbe, "The reason why you keep stumbling is because your footing isn't balanced," she turned to Sigurd, "You're using the wrong type of stone to sharpen that sword, and-" she at last landed on Ivar who was avoiding her eyes. "You are not holding the bow correctly."

Hvitserk flushed embarrassingly as he quickly looked down at this wrist and scrambled to correct it. Ubbe was more tactful and looked at his older brother, who seemed smug, which meant that she was right. He nodded his head, "I guess we do need a little help."

"I'm happy to hear that, Ubbe," Bjorn clapped his half brother on the shoulder. Ubbe was getting tall, almost reaching Bjorn's height. The boy reminded him a lot of himself at his age; more eager to learn, to try new things. He even had the same cut he had at that age.

Hvitserk was still unimpressed and unconvinced. After he had fixed his wrist guard, he looked up as if he did not get called out on his idiocy. "How exactly is she going to help us? Even if she knows a bit, she is in a dress."

Sigurd had lifted his head up from examining what he had originally thought was a whetstone was really just a regular rock, which only irritated him. After he threw it over his shoulder, he stood next to Hvitserk with his hands on his belt. "The only person who needs the most help is Boneless over there. He's sunk every arrow we have into the soil."

Ivar's fingers curled white around the limbs of the bow, his shoulders shaking from the boiling rage that threatened to explode. Kára had noticed it, which made her turn to glare at Sigurd, "I doubt your prowess is anything to brag about, Sigurd."

Bjorn did not want to interrupt, he stood next to Ubbe and watched the children puff up their chests around Kára, peacocking their prides as if they deserved it. He, of course, was not so ignorant as his brothers. They were raised by women who did not fight, whereas his mother was a shieldmaiden of legend. She lead a company of entirely skilled shieldmaidens like herself, that many seasoned vikings could not beat. His half brothers had yet to see a woman best a man in front of them, and not through tales told by Aslaug. The viking folded his arms across his chest and tilted his head at the display, Ubbe patiently standing beside him, watching what he had a feeling would surely humiliate his hot-headed brothers.

Sigurd snorted, "Is that a challenge?"

Ivar peaked over his shoulder, still silently angry, but he couldn't deny the interest in the situation. His eyes met with Kára's and he felt the need to quickly look away. For some reason he felt shame even looking at her, especially after their last encounter. He was still resentful at how she made him feel that night; Ivar had never felt as utterly useless as he did that moment. The shock of her words had cut deep, and reminded him he would never fully be a man, let a lone a man that his father would be proud of. He found himself angry crying into the darkness, which eventually triggered Aslaug to come in rushing in to console him, without asking what was wrong.

"The only challenge I'm going to get from this is trying not to laugh at how bad you are," Kára stood in the middle of the training yard now, her arms crossed over her chest, but just barely. The seams in her sleeves pulled her back from even taking a comfortable pose. She mentally yelled at her mother for making her wear the dress over her old tunic and trousers.

Sigurd and Hvitserk visibly bristled; their shoulders squared and Bjorn had to hide his mouth behind a hand to hide the all-knowing smirk caused by their predictable reaction. Kára knew what she was doing - it was so easy to rile boys up when you question their competence. It tended to make the embarrassment of losing all the more worse.

"Alright, have your way then," Hvitserk grabbed a bow and a few of Ivar's failed arrows from the ground and then moved back farther, nearly to the order of the clearing. He pointed a finger at one of the wooden targets that was strung up across the yard. Sigurd shortly followed suit, and stood across from next target. "We will see who is the better archer. You, or us," the elder of the two boasted as he lifted his arm with the bow.

Already Kára could spot errors in their technique. Elbows too high, not using enough fingers to knock back the arrow, not to mention their drawback was weak. She was surprised it even hit near the target at all, but she decided the elements were on their side today - it wasn't windy where they were. Hvitserk's arrow landed just two inches shy of the center, whereas Sigurd's landed a little farther south, which he was visibly disappointed on. Nevertheless, he looked back with confidence, as if she would merely graze the target, or hit the rim.

The cocky little shit that was Hvitserk made a mock bow as he gestured towards the targets, "Your turn, Greenfoot."

The redhead sighed at the nickname, not enjoying how easily it had caught on ever since she had came to the Longhouse that night. Turning around she walked up to Ivar, who wasn't prepared for her to be even near him. He didn't know what he was expecting, but when she held out her hand and simply said, "give me it," he looked at the bow that was once hers. He was hesitant; what if she just took this moment to take back her bow and ran off with it? It was his. The Red Woman gave it to him, and she promised it would give him good fortune.

"I'll give it back," she replied a little more forcefully.

He pursed his lips but relented, and handed her over the bow. The moment the wood landed on her fingers, a new found confidence built up in Kára's chest. It had been too long since she had last held her bow. It was familiar, but new in a way. It no longer smelled like home. Which reminded her that it no longer belonged to her, and that gave her a dull sore in her chest.

She swallowed down her sadness and walked back to where the brothers stood waiting. Kára lifted her arms up, but the fabric of her sleeves constricted again. She could barely lift her arms above her shoulders at how tight it was. Sigurd and Hvitserk sniggered under their breaths, and with the eyes of Ubbe and Bjorn on her, it was aggravating and humiliating that she was being restrained by a stupid dress. Kára looked up and caught the scrutinizing look of Ivar from the other side, and she then remembered how Sigurd had talked to him only moments ago. Setting her jaw she lifted her arms once again, more forcefully, causing the seams of her sleeves and down her spin to rip open. The sound made the boys quiet at least, but they shared amused looks, as immature boys do.

With freedom in her arms, Kára now felt in her element. She held the weapon up, bow arm straight, elbow pointed behind her, string to her nose, and her eagle eye narrowing in on her target. The noise around her dulled to only the sounds of nature; the ruffles of leaves, the gentle wind rustling the branches from high above them, the frantic chirping of pheasants not too far away.

Her fingers relaxed into her palm and the breathe she held released the moment the arrow flew from her bow. It went straight for Sigurd's target, splitting through his arrow and causing the target to spin around from the wire that held it above ground. Before they could even comprehend where her arrow went, she pulled out another one and aimed at Hvitserk's; again not aiming for the center, but for his arrow, and it struck true the second time. Finally at the third, she drew another arrow, but this time she did not move for a moment longer. Kára waited only a few seconds, but the world slowed down in that moment for her. Without warning, she let out a sound that could only be described as a blood curdling scream. The Ragnarssons, including Ubbe and Bjorn, were visible startled as they gave a slight jump.

It had done its trick though. A flurry of pheasants came flying out from the east, right through training area. Kára's arrow went loose, and found itself through the neck of a brightly coloured bird before burrowing into the center of the third and final target.

Silence befell them all as she lowered her arms and let them hang loosely by her sides. After a moment of eyeing her work, thoroughly impressed with herself, but trying to act as nonchalant as possible. Truthfully, the first two were easy, as they were stationary targets. It was only a matter of drawing back the string hard enough that she would be able to put enough weight behind the arrow to give it a strong enough impact to split their arrows. It was the pheasants that she took a chance at; if they did not fly in her direction, she would have made herself look like a mad woman. She took a chance at showboating, and it paid off. Perhaps it was the gods showing her some pity after her mother humiliated her that morning by throwing her naked and screaming in the river.

The victor lolled her head over to the two competitors, "Anyone hungry? I am only asking because your gaping mouths are drooling."

"What in Hel was that?" Ivar spoke at last, his body fully turned in their direction. He was talking about the bloodcurdling scream she had done.

She quickly turned to him and shuffled on her spot self consciously, and opened her mouth to explain, but Bjorn was the first to answer as he approached her from behind and clasped her shoulders with both of his large hands. "It was a Vixen's Scream. She did it to draw out the birds. A very good tactic when you are hunting pheasants, who are hiding, if you are quick enough."

He moved around her and to the center of the training area so he was looking at everyone. "Sigurd, Hvitserk, I am disappointed in you. The best and most valuable advice you can be given is to never underestimate your opponent, no matter their appearance, and you did the exact opposite. That is why I let this foolishness unfold, because I knew the humiliation would be a greater impact on you two. There are a great many things you can learn from someone like Kára, not only because she is skilled, but because she has more practical experience than all of you. Starting today, I will have her, and myself, assist you, my brothers, to become not only viking, but men worthy of the title."

He looked into the eyes of every single one, even Kára, as if challenging her to oppose this idea. Bjorn was far too intimidating to say no too, it was as if he was like a father figure, a far better one than their actual father. He did have a daughter, Siggy, perhaps that is why it seemed so natural to him.

Bjorn finally landed his gaze on Ivar, "And this includes you, Ivar," he approached him and laid his colossal hand on his shoulder. "Do not doubt yourself, for others will doubt you. Allow yourself help from others, and you will reach your potential faster. This, I promise you."

X X X

Training had resumed after that, but only for a short period, since the brothers had already been at it for a couple hours before Bjorn intervened. The sun was about to set when they left the training area, and headed back home. Only two remained behind.

For the remainder of that afternoon, Kára only found herself useful when she gave the Ragnarssons advice on how to take care of their weapons, since truthfully she had no formal training in using a sword. Her talent was in resourcefulness, hunting, and crafting. She knew how to aim, whether it be with a bow, a crossbow, spear, or axe. If it was long range, Kára was better than most adults, let alone people her age. Watching Bjorn with a sword and axe was an entirely different experience. Knowing how to survive and fight against the elements and the force of nature was vastly different to surviving on the battlefield.

Kára wanted to pick up a sword and throw herself in the spar with Bjorn with the others, but she had already gained their respect with her aim, and knew if she was terrible with the sword it would tarnish the reputation she had only just made herself. So she resumed to showing Ubbe how to do minor repairs on the grips of his weapons, while only glancing up at the others every once in awhile. Ivar seemed to be far more recluse, but more determined after Bjorn's declaration. He had abandoned the bow for now, and had taken up an axe and began throwing them at tree trunks; Kára noted that his aim was far better at that, than it was with the bow. She also noted that every time Ivar seemed to fail or humiliate himself, like fall off the tree stump, pull a muscle in his arms, or miss his target, Sigurd was quick to point that out and make some kind of insult.

She didn't know why it bothered her so much.

"Are you coming, Kára?" Bjorn asked her after Ubbe, Sigurd, and Hvitserk had left the clearing, leaving her to pick up lost arrows in the ground.

The redhead turned to the other end, where Ivar was adjusting the straps around his legs after he had undone them to train. His brothers did not help him in the slightest, but she had a hunch that he didn't want their help in the first place. When she looked back at Bjorn, she shook her head, "I think I'm going to stay for a bit, then head home."

Bjorn had watched her gaze go towards his youngest brother. Nodding his head, he didn't say another word before turning and heading back to the city. Once he and the others were far enough away, Kára walked towards Ivar, but stopped about ten feet away.

"Why do you let them talk to you that way?"

Ivar froze, his shoulders squared up and his lips curled into his teeth. He wanted to pretend that she was not there. Sure, she humiliated Sigurd and Hvitserk, for reasons that elude him, but her show of skill had only served to annoy and make him resent her further. Her words in his bedroom that night still echoed in his mind, and now there was more proof that this girl was far better than him in something that he should be better at. What was worse was that seeing her hold the bow that he had took from her gave him a bit of shame. It clearly belonged to her; she gave it purpose when it was in her hands, whereas he failed just by holding it.

"Why do you care?" He asked bitterly, resuming his straps around his calves. "I thought I was no longer worth it?"

Kára found herself rolling her eye so hard that she felt it would roll behind her skull. This was not because of him, but because of herself. That night she had left with her dignity intact, and truly believed that Ivar the Boneless would no longer play a part in her life, despite their interactions only lasting two days. Evidently, he would be hard to ignore, especially if she wanted to be around Bjorn to learn about fighting. However, now she was in a dilemma, and her conscious was nagging at her to make the right choice. It had been a fortnight, but it was obvious that her words stung him deeply. Perhaps even so deeply that he needed to to prove her and everyone wrong about the man he will be.

Bjorn believed in him; Floki believed in him; his mother believed in him, but he found himself longing for the faith of others. He wanted, above anyone else, to have his father believe in him the way he believed in Ubbe, Hvitserk, Sigurd, and Bjorn. Now, though, he found himself wanting to prove his worth to this girl, who no longer looked the way she did when they had first met. She looked more woman than feral child, and he could plainly see her face now that it wasn't dirty. The dress she wore hugged her body, whereas the tunic and trousers she usually donned made her body look straight and boyish. Ivar found himself yearning to look at her, but he was adamant on doing the exact opposite.

The boy's back was to her, his eyes glaring at his leather-clad legs while he busied himself with the straps. She remained quiet, and he hoped this meant that she would leave him be.

"I care," her voice made him halt, but her words that followed after made him roll his eyes."I care that my bow is now in the hands of someone who can't even use it. And it bothers me that it's potential is wasted… So that is why I am going to teach you how to use it as well as I do."

Ivar slowly turned halfway around and looked at her over his shoulder with a furrowed brow, "What?"

Sighing, Kára picked up a few more arrows left on the ground and walked passed him towards the elevated tree stump that he had been sitting on before. "Pick up that bow, and come here before I change my mind."

Despite her impatience, Ivar understandably was hesitant, caught between his pride and his unwillingness to work with her. The temptation to scoff at her, tell her to fuck off, and then crawl back home was overwhelming, but Bjorn's voice rang in his mind.

Allow yourself help from others, and you will reach your potential faster. This, I promise you.

The cripple sighed and began to drag himself over to her, and then hauled himself up, picking up the bow that laid idle against the bark. Without her telling him to do so, he was about to draw back the bow with an arrow already nocked.

"No," she flatly said, which made him pause and turn to glare at her.

"What did I do wrong?"

"Point it at the ground while you're placing the arrow, then aim," she explained.

"Why?"

"If you make a mistake, it will shoot into the ground. This way you avoid losing an arrow by mistake, and accidentally killing or injuring the wrong thing," Kára then nodded. "Try again."

Ivar let out a steady sigh through his nose, feeling regret seep through his veins. He did as she instructed, and pointed the arrow to the ground before lifting the weapon and aiming at the target. He released the arrow without her saying to do so; the string slapped his cheek and his wrist brace, and as predicted the arrow made a pitiful arch and landed in the ground to the far east of the target.

"Were you paying attention to your arrow?" She asked.

"Yes," he replied irritably, tilting his head to her. "It landed in the ground. Like the others."

"It wobbled," she ignored him. "In the air. You put too much vibration in the string, because you aren't holding the bow correctly. I told you this earlier."

"I am doing it exactly as Ubbe has instructed," Ivar insisted. "Hold straight, point the arrow where you want to hit."

Kára ran her hand down her face and shook her head, "The simplest way to explain it, only you weren't holding it straight, and pointing the arrow to your target isn't going to make it hit the target."

"Obviously," he muttered woodley.

"Pull back another arrow, this time don't let it go," she instructed after handing him another.

He listened, but his jaw was set and hard. Out of habit he leaned his head against the bowstring and closed one eye, but stopped himself from letting the arrow fly. The finger he held back the string twitched and struggled from the weight of the draw back.

"There," she began. "That's one of the reasons why the arrow wobbles. Hold the string with three fingers, not one, and pull it back further."

"It can't go back any further," he insisted. Ivar heard a sigh and her feet moving across the ground to right behind him. His muscles tensed when she gripped his hand that held the string, and pull out his fingers from his fist and forced them to wrap around the string with the back of the arrow nestled between his middle and pointer finger.

"Your form is wrong too. Your elbow is too high, and you're bending the other arm. You're trying too hard to control the bow, and not allowing it to become part of you," Kára began to adjust his arms in the properly position before taking his draw back hand and pulling the string a couple inches behind him. Ivar found himself allowing her to adjust his limbs to her specification, and enjoying the heat of her body so close to him. Every time exposed flesh touched his own, especially her fingers on his, he felt a hot sensation vibrate down his spine. A flash of relocation of the day she gave him a kiss came to mind, but that quickly disappeared the moment she pulled away.

"Now, breathe in, and as you breathe out relax your fingers into your palm to release," he listened to her instructions without question. Ivar's fingers relaxed into his palm and the force of the arrow flew past his cheek with minimal impact to his skin or forearm. It had gone so fast that Ivar hadn't fully processed that it had hit the wooden target until seconds after when the target relaxed in its swinging.

The arrow didn't hit the center, it was a bit south and and only five inches from the border, but he actually hit it. Kára watched him as he stared at the arrow with wide eyes. A small smile threatened to appear; she was happy, and she didn't know why. She told herself it was because she successfully taught someone something practical, but that wasn't entirely it. The look of awe in Ivar's face when he realized he actually hit the target was like watching hope lighting inside of him.

"That's better," Ivar heard Kára say behind him.

He turned around, and saw her looking at the arrow with her hands on her hips casually. "I didn't hit the center," his face dropped. "Even properly using a bow, I can't even hit my mark. I have terrible aim; not fit to be an archer."

Kára fround at him and her arms slipped from her sides, "Do you think a competent archer just figures it out after one arrow?"

"You are younger than me, and you could do...That," he waved a finger over to the other targets where she had splintered Sigurd and Hvitserk's arrows in half.

"That did not happen overnight, Ivar," she walked around the stump to stand in front of him. "Failure is not reason to give up. Failure is what motivated me to become better, and I accomplished that, and you will too. I've watched you with the axe, Ivar. You have impressive aim. The problem you hold with the bow, is that you are not factoring in the elements around you."

"What do you mean?"

"The arrow is light, it holds little weight compared to an axe, so the environment around it affects its destination. If the wind is moving against you, you will need to draw back further, and aim higher. If it is coming to your left, it will cause the arrow to land right of target. If it is coming from your right, the arrow will be on the left of the target. If the wind is behind you, the arrow will lift higher than your aim, so you must aim lower, and it will be faster, so it will have less control."

"And if there is no wind?"

"Then you rely purely on your eye and hand. A steady, straight arm and your good eye will aid you there," Kára bent down and picked up one of the arrows she had collected and handed it to Ivar, feather first.

Ivar looked at it, and then looked at her; his eyes were studying her, but not in a negative way. He had forgotten in the last minute that this girl was only a few moons younger than him, and yet she spoke to him as if she had ten years on him. She was speaking with a wisdom beyond her years. Floki had spoken to Ivar about people like her; not specifically who she was, but the energy that she gave off. People who had old souls, that were born to be skilled, intelligent, and how those people were favoured by the gods. Ragnar Lothbrok was one of those people, Floki had told him. Ivar asked if he was one of those people, and Floki simply smiled at him and tilted his head, eyes squinting in mirth.

Ivar reached and took the arrow from her offered hand and without hesitation he knocked the arrow, repeating each step she taught him in his head until he paused just before releasing it. The gentle breeze crept through the branches from the right of him; Ivar took in a deep breath, and then relaxed his fingers into his palm as he exhaled.

Do not doubt yourself.

The feather of the arrow ghosted his cheek, and he watched in slow anticipation as it flew in a straight line towards the wooden target. With a hollow 'thunk', the arrowhead embedded itself right in the center.


I'm also gonna call myself out on Kara being a lil sueish here. I tried to make up for it a lil bit, but re reading it, I did realize I made her look like a showboat for the sake of making her appear better than everyone.

Also, a Vixen's Scream or call, is a female fox calling for a mate. It sounds like a woman dying, which is terrifying. Pheasants are common prey; like most small birds, they will fly away the moment the hear a sound of a known predator. Foxes are common predators to small prey, like birds, and I chose specifically a fox because of they remind me of Kara, specifically red foxes. One, for obvious reasons that she is a redhead, two, because foxes are wise and tactful, and cunning. They know how to use the environment around them in terms of survival and hunting. They're seen as tricksters because they blend well with their environment that their prey often dont see them coming. While Hulda, her mom, is more represented as a cat - mystical and mysterious, a connection to the gods (such as ancient Egyptians believed), her father, Ulf, as his name suggests, is more like a wolf or a dog; loyal, family-oriented, intelligent, and works best in a pack. Foxes might be canines, but they've always reminded me if a cat, domestic or wild, and a dog, or coyote or wolf could procreate, it would look like a fox.

*One last thing, my knowledge of archery isn't exceptional. I do, do it. I'm not good at it, but I have got a few tips along the way. Everything Kara has said here is merely my knowledge and the bit of research I did to make sure I was right. If there are any experts reading this and if I made an error in anyway, please feel free to tell me, and I'll correct it. *

Hope this chapter was worth the wait, and was better than the last one that it warrants a bit of feedback. The next chapter is 100% Ivar and Kara, and I can't wait to publish it.

Thanks for reading!

~CB