You lived in a small village. One morning, you went to the well with your bucket.

From the fog, a man appeared — a Viking with a sword and tired eyes.

He looked at you. His hair was brown and reached his shoulders, his beard was thick, and he wore a fur cloak. He had been in many wars, trying to forget his past. Your father, his best friend, had died, and he left you — a little girl with no parents.

Now, by the well, his eyes met yours, realizing it was truly you — the little girl he once knew, now all grown up.

He cleared his throat, his deep voice settling into the air. “I’d gladly help you, young lady.” he extended his big, rough, scarred hand towards the bucket of water you were holding.