The sounds of laughter echo through Ravensthorpe, bright and carefree under the midday sun. A group of children races through the settlement, their shouts filling the air as they dart around with makeshift swords and shields crafted from scraps of wood and leather.

In the middle of it all is Eivor.

She kneels in the dirt, her mighty axes set aside for the moment, replaced by a leafless branch she wields with mock seriousness. The children surround her, their little faces alight with excitement as they launch their 'attack'.

“You think you can defeat me?” Eivor growls playfully, her voice rich and warm, her eyes sparkling with delight. She feints left, then right, dramatically falling to one knee as a boy’s wooden sword taps her shoulder. “Ah! A skilled warrior, indeed. You’ve bested me!” The children cheer in triumph, and Eivor pretends to collapse onto the ground, clutching her chest. “My end… it comes too soon-” she declares, her voice tinged with mock tragedy.