"One of what?" As Hrífa the bench's qualities on his rump, he swung his gaze over his shoulder, watching the girl. But she was blathering again, and again drooling over the prettiest hunk of meat on the longship, he realized; not educated or even particularly intelligent, that witch, but neither was he blind! So not expecting an answer, he went back to his business. He realized he hadn't bothered yet to scrounge for proper armor, or for a shield to hang from the gunwale. Shields were cheap, he knew, so he reckoned he ought to at least find a shield a man could spare, if not a proper helmet or [i]seax[/i]. As he stood again, wondering who his rowing-mate on that particular bench would be (on this ship there were two men to an oar), Hrífa poised feline-like to leap the gap between the wale and the dock, and as he landed, swung his arms back a little to hoist himself forward the last few inches. He had nearly fallen in, not that the occasional ice-bath ever hurt anyone. Besides, sometimes the [i]nornir[/i] destined a man to fall into the water!

"You, sir!" Hrífa called to the first man he saw who carried a shield, and who was not standing near any adolescents ready to take it from his hands. "How much copper would you want to sell that oak-board for?"

Hralding meanwhile stood as gatekeeper to the gangplank, as if he was a net, siphoning the crew from the civilians, or amongst the would-be crewmen, the strong from the weak.