It was early morning. Too early, Erik thought, for smithing. Nevertheless, the work had to be done. He knew not when or whether he'd be back this year. All he knew was that it was raiding season, the only time of year he could get away from the hot coals of the fiery furnace and bury himself in the midst of even more fiery battles. The morning air was lined with mist; morning dew dripped from the leaves and all was quiet in Råå, for now. Even so, Erik stood over the anvil shirtless, donning no more than his leather pants and boots. He wiped his brow as he hammered his latest project - an iron sword - to completion. Once it was done, he grabbed a cloth and mopped his brow. Smithing always worked up his appetite, and Erik hadn't had breakfast yet.

Returning inside his hut, Erik sat down near the fire, where he had left a rabbit roasting over the fire. Satisfied that the meat had been well cooked, he removed the rabbit from the spit roast and began to dismember it into smaller pieces. He quietly thanked the Gods before taking his first bite. Meanwhile, his young apprentice was just getting out of bed. Sven had seen seventeen summers, he was moderately tall and well built, with deep blue eyes and sandy blonde hair that hung past his ears. He was well disposed, polite and kind... but a little craven. His mother had given him over to Erik when he was fifteen, since his own father perished a long time ago. Erik had acted as the boy's mentor and father figure ever since.
"Now, you're sure you can handle this, boy?" Erik asked.
"Of course, sir," Sven replied, a touch of apprehension in his tone.
"I need to know, because I can get somebody else to look after the Smithy if need be."
Sven looked at the floor for a moment. The boy longed to prove himself and Erik knew that. He got up from his meal and ruffled Sven's hair.
"You'll do fine, lad. You've been with me for two years and you smith some fine goods. The Smithy can manage without me." Erik's voice was firm, and yet reassuring. Sven looked at him and smiled. 
"Look after yourself, sir, and may Odin watch over you" he said shyly. Erik grabbed the rear of the boy's head and two touched foreheads for a moment.
"I told you already boy, it's about time you stopped calling me 'sir'. Erik is fine. You're a man now."
"Alright, Erik."

Erik was always slightly paranoid when out in public. Smithing weapons for the wrong people had made him enemies in the past. Even the Earl didn't have much fondness left for Erik. Although the fisher folk and some of the older ones still called him 'Sunderskull', he knew he would find no allies in the longhouse. Striding inside of the longhouse, Erik was clothed in his leather pants, boots and surcoat - with a layer of chainmail underneath. Glancing around the gathered crowds, he noticed a few familiar faces - Freiga and her family, along with Tosti Svavarson. Nobody he particularly cared to associate with, but not enemies either. He grabbed a horn of ale and leaned up against one of the longhouse's walls. Erik didn't need to be at the front with all the rest, he just needed to attend and then he'd be off, free to fight as he willed for the rest of the summer.