Sea-Arrow. Ásdís loved it! Shift and deadly, cutting through the water, not sailing but flying. And an arrow had a bit of grace to it, not as a sword or axe with their brute force but instead a thing of precision and delicate skill. One time when her father had been too far into his drinks the red head had overheard her mother confiding in another wife that she rather fancied she was better with a bow and arrow than Adlif was.  

“I exactly plan out each meal, each stich,  each day. Whereas he plans out only as far as the next thing that needs tending to in front of him. How can you be a good shot when you cannot see long distances?” 

The other wife had chortled and agreed, regaling Ásdís’ mother with a story of her own husbands foolery, but she had never forgotten the gleam of pride in her mother’s eye at finally admitting her superiority over her husband in this field. 

Sighing wistfully at the memory Ásdís settled in her own spot beside the Rat Eater. She was a bit worried that he was so…Unclean but he looked more able to pull an oar than the few seats left besides small runty boys, and less likely to try to distract her with conversation as the more seasoned men with space besides them. 

Glancing over to the Rat eater in question Ásdís studied his new addition with some approval. The painting was very fine. “A lovely shield…” She complimented before reaching to take the oar, testing her grip. The wood was solid but rough. Her hands were used to gardening and farm work, it wasn’t as if Ásdís was a milk softened maiden… Still she knew her hands would not hold up well. Would it be shameful to make gloves and wear them? 

Shouldn’t she push through the pain? Be glad of the new blisters? Wear them as badges of her effort and merit?