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The smell of wood smoke drifted through the house like incense.
The blazing wood-fire sent its warmth and light far out through the longhouse, flashing crimson shadows along the stone walls.
Sat delicately on the carved wooden stool, her legs crossed politely, Astrid's sapphire orbs never left the polished shard of metal that showed her reflection, just as water did.
The mirror had been a gift from her father, something he'd salvaged for Astrid when he and her mother had been on a raid.
Truthfully speaking, Astrid could recall little of her father, she could remember he was a strong man with kind eyes and an infectious laugh, but Astrid had only been a child when he had died.
But one thing that had stuck in her mind, had been his attitude towards death.
He had once told Astrid he had no fear of death, that when the time came, he'd welcome the Valkyries to summon him home, that he wouldn't enter Odin's hall with fear.
Astrid liked to think her father was in Odin's hall, toasting horns filled with the strongest of ales and sharing valiant battle stories with his fellow warriors.
Peering at her mother through the polished metal, the corner of Astrid's lips twitched in surprise.
It was not like her mother to be affectionate, to offer to brush and style her daughters hair.
Yet there Sigrid stood, clutching the brush made of bone between her toughened fingers.
As nice as the gesture was, every stroke of the brush tugged painfully at each strand of hair, not that her mother seemed to notice or perhaps mind as she carelessly hummed, dragging the brush back and forth.
With her lips tightened into a firm grimace, Astrid managed to hold her tongue as her mother put the brush aside, fingers moving to tightly twist the curls into a simple crown braid.
It was no secret her mother was in a putrid mood, and at that moment, the last thing Astrid wanted was to worsen her mother's mood.
Fastening the braid securely, Sigrid smiled bashfully at her handiwork.
"You look beautiful child, any man would be honored to have you on their arm." Sigrid commented proudly.
Meeting her mother's swirling azure iris' in the mirror, Astrid struggled to hold the comment that so dangerously wanted to seep off her tongue.
"And what an honor it would be for me, mother. A breeding mare for my brutish warrior husband." Sarcasm dripped from her each syllable.
Instead of striking her daughter as Astrid expected, Sigrid simply let out a sigh, running her fingers through her daughters loose curls. "My sweet daughter. Those are some rather brave words, you forget who your mother is."
