It had been quite a long journey for Eira from the cold Northern wastes to the recruitment centre at Rot Donar. She had found the name quite funny in fact. In her language it meant 'Tending to the Roots'. As if a person was taking care of the roots of a plant or a tree. She had not been able to keep her laughter to herself once the recruiters had directed her there. In a sense it was quite the fitting name, they are tending to the roots. Hammering out bad old habits, getting into better shape, becoming a fighter, a soldier.

Eira felt it had been good for her as well, it had given her plenty of time to think about her life, and to train with her spear. While she could outshoot most, outlast most in a running contest, sneak up on most, her close quarters were close to abysmal. She had not won many fistfights and wrestle contests where the strength of the individual was quite important. When it came to her spear she had won more, but more due to cunning and just avoiding to fight until her opponent became tired.

She smiled as she was in another bout. She had been given a specific condition to future ones. If she was not able to win within one hourglass of time, she would automatically lose and receive punishments. When the condition had been put into effect after another long bout she had just chuckled and said 'thank you' to the instructor. Eira knew why that condition had been placed on her, in a pitched battle there was never a single opponent which she could tire out. Sure, if the fight dragged on for ages between the two sides she would still have stamina for it, but she would not survive to see it if she had to fight it. She smiled towards the instructor and charged her opponent. 

It had been a resounding loss for her. She had been outmatched and outfought quite handily. Eira had grown too cocky since no one part from veterans had won against her in the bouts before because of her way of fighting. Now the tables had been turned and she was losing almost all of them. It was a pitiful showing really, she went in, and she went down almost as quickly, but at least she could stand up for a little longer with every fight.

Once the order to move out finally came she had been relieved. Finally they were back to something she was good at. Her orders were to scout ahead along with the other scouts and bring back food once the campaign started. Scouting was her thing, not fighting, not killing.

[u][i]A boy, charging towards her with an axe in hand. The blade shone in the light, blood running down the haft. Behind the boy, a girl, cut in the chest, lifeless. The girl, a friend from a nearby village, now dead. The boy, from a rival tribe, no more than 14 years old. Her entire body shivering, instinct taking over, notching an arrow, letting it loose. Arrow struck him in the throat, blood spraying and flowing down his chest. He paused for just a moment before charging again. She had held her spear out, he had run into it. His face just a few away from hers, blood dripping down onto her snow covered face. He was crying, and so was she.[/i][/u]

The flashback ended and she shivered up in her tree. Night was closing in on them close to a great forest. In some ways the woods had calmed her, a lot of places to hide. Ever since recruitment she had kept her eyes on the others. Looking for others from the wastes. There had been a few, but no one she recognized neither any tribal markings she knew to look out for. [i]"So far so good"[/i] she thought and closed her eyes for a moment.

She prefered the trees to the ground. They had all been told about the; [b]dýr[/b] or The Beasts in this tongue, that roamed this land. Stories about them feeding on the [b]blóð[/b] of any [b]mær[/b] they came across. While she was not a maiden any longer, she did not want to take any chances, she wanted her blood to stay within her.

Besides, it was better to sleep up here rather than with these [b]suðr-maðr bikkja[/b]. She knew what they had done to her people over the years, trying to force their [b]trú[/b] on her people. She resented them, but also admired them. Living like they do, instead of living like she did. It was weird and odd to her, most of the traders she had traded with before had been mostly like herself. Her first time in a city though.....

Eira shivered at the memory and looked down at the camp. She wondered if there was anyone there she would one day call [b]bróðir[/b] or [b]systir[/b], someone she would be ready to give her life for, she highly doubted it. Eira shifted her positioning to be more comfortable while observing the movements within the camp.