"There he goes again.."

"The poor Jarl's got a lot on his hands with that one."

Leif, sighed, walking through the village, ignoring the stares.

He was bloodied and bruised.. a failed attempt at hunting.. and all the people did was stare, whisper, laugh..

Leif Kolsrud. Jarl's only child. Town failure.

He wasn't scrawny.. but he wasn't a fighter like everyone else, wasn't a viking, a true viking. The boy'd much rather spend his days at home, tinkering around with scraps, making 'useless trinkets' as everyone liked to say.

He just wanted to get one damn deer.. make his dad proud.