In the burning ruins of an ancient city, Ragnar Lothbrok's eldest son with his second wife Aslaug, Ubbe, found one lone survivor. A young girl. A girl with deep and dark and red eyes, and hair black as night with a single streak of white.
"Aila." Ha...
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"Land." Murmured Aila Bloodeye with the smallest of smiles on her pale lips. Bloodeye turned to the pale faced Ivar clinging to a log for dear life, and she felt the urge to howl with laughter when she saw that he was still seasick. "Are you unwell?" She asked innocently.
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Ivar growled animalisticly and met her eyes. He felt the bile rise up in his throat and looked away, then jerked to the side and leaned over the edge of the ship. He hurled, vomiting his insides out into the water.
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"I," Ivar swore and spat. "hate water." He hissed and wiped his lips. Ivar looked at Aila with the eyes of a lost puppy when she cupped his cheeks and kneeled down in front of him.
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