The dark castle of Bebbanfarne glare with remorse. Trelleborg surrounded by flames gyrating through the air like coryphee in a corps de ballet. Tyranny ended together with ash of demise with a glint of red curse.

The growling sound from their throats remind me of dogs howling. A sound of victory chortled that means, the flag of Vikings remain. Pillage in the land will no longer stand, no more heads to slay in the Valhalla. War has come to an end, seafaring to the West they'll send.

As the music and festive noise invade the whole space, I, Valka, need a drink. No more sceattes left in my pocket since the dark throne burnt our town including the Byre, because we only have cows where long houses built near the brink.

The crowd mobbed in this old dusty tavern. Norsemen guzzle their beers, for today, is something to cheer.

Scythe and horn helmet suddenly dived in my pub table where Asvard, the head of Varyags appeared. I covered my face with kerchef and proffer him a drinking horn. For he is alone, and looks torn.

The moon is blue, which is true. There's no stars, but only the giant moon trapping the sky. The Vikings will tomorrow rise as they sail their knarr away from the ground where new quest bound.

Asvard lunged the drink and gulp down leaving a froth. 'Ahoy, Valka Lindqvist.' I should've worn my two braids as the Varyag guard acknowledge a partake.

Asvard apprise the journey takes time. He looks at me, and said 'stars are hidden in your eyes. That's why there's nothingness tonight.' A fleeting moment of merry in my life.

The stillness of the early morning scene row the vessel smoothly until out of sight. The vow of me and Asvard is carved in the rune stone that midnight. 'A full moon where lovers kiss, spell of eternity will bliss.'

Every full moon, I wait. It's been years since the vessel went home straight, the wind lost their track from navigating. Vikings board one by one. This is the day.

Brynjar, the warrior with tough armors came to say hi. He told me Asvard is no longer inside. The huge waves of tides wash away some men and die. But a message from my Asvard he declared this time:

'Valka, my dereworthy heart, the sail has been taking forever as the moon so full and bright, the waves are getting higher. I miss the drink of that half-horn of rye. Remember, the vow in stone runes will never die. I will see you very soon. If not now, tomorrow or in the future, maybe in another life. Look up in the sky, so I may see the stars in the cruel earth hidden in your eyes. Valka Lindqvist, this is not our goodbye.'*

(a.k)