It was in the days when Ingolfur Arnarson had made a home of Reykjavík, that many men took ships to the new land, one of them Thorald, son of Kol the Broad, and brother of Bjor with whom he had made the journey west. They were both tall men of dark hair and long beards, though were Thorald was taller Bjor was the broader. They had made their way north from the Bay of Smoke which Ingolfur had claimed, settling along the bay Hunafoli atop a ridge that overlooked the river Blanda. Their fields spread wide and south, engulfing a massive boulder at the southern border of which Thorald had demanded they encircle. 

The Gods themselves had guided them towards it, for the stone was a home to the land spirits, Thorald had claimed when he first laid eyes on it. Out of respect he had ordered the long house to be raised far north of the stone, the wights had been there far longer then he and it would be disrespectful to clamor about so close to their home. Still he made sure that sacrifices were often made, when they had cleared the woods to raise his longhouse he had offered fresh milk from one of his cattle; when they had brought a bounty of fish from the river he sent the fattest to the wights; and now at the end of summer when the first frost had settled across the fields he had come himself with a cup of ale. Wrapped tightly in his cloak and carrying only his sax underneath it so as to not frighten them.

"I direct this sacrifice to the landvaettir, in thanks and seeking only protection for my herds over the winter months." He said before taking a small drink of ale and leaving the rest at the base of the stone. "My thanks, good friends. I shall return soon to dine at your home and welcome you within mine." He said as he finished and turned away to the north towards a distant wisp of smoke that rose over the hills. 

He tried to ignore thoughts of the warming fire below that smoke, and the fresh comforts within his longhouse. It was a long trek over the hills before he stood at the walls of his home field. Inside which he men and women worked hurriedly in preparation of the winter. A few turned as they saw him coming up the final hill, a few shouting greetings or just a simple wave, but most kept to their work. Only Yrsa, his hound, rushed out to great him in person through his brother Bjor followed slowly in the hounds wake. 

"Brother," Bjor said as he cross the fields towards his brother "you should have sent a thrall, you're soaked through." He said waving at Thoralds trousers now drenched from the frost covered grass. 

"Better to take the offering myself, than to risk offending the spirits Bjor." He said as he passed his brother "This land has been good to us, would you risk that for a pair of dry trousers and a warm morning by the fire?" he didn't bother to wait for a response, as he knew Bjor would have none, and instead made for the longhouse. "How are the cattle doing?" He asked once they'd made their way up the hill and inside wall.

"The cows are inside the longhouse, we spent most of the morning getting them into the pens but they have room for the winter. I've had Duana stacking hay for them all day." Bjor replied following behind "The bull is grazing in the eastern field. I've shepherds keeping an eye on it."

"Good, keep it there, I won't waste hay to feed it over the winter and it will be good for both a sacrifice and a feast in a few weeks." He replied as he made it doorway of the house "Now though, I need another drop of ale and a meal." And then he turned inwards into the warmth of the longhouse.