The glow was starting to fade on the horizon, losing its blue tint to the grey clouds. Stefnir’s eyes narrowed to a tight squint in an effort to see through the thickening snowfall.
Then it was gone. The afternoon sky had returned to its regular, dreary self.
Stefnir’s mind was racing with questions as to what he had seen. What power could have caused such a thing? Should I report to Gunnar what I have seen? Will they mock me as a mad man? Am I, in fact, mad?
Then, through the white haze, Stefnir saw a black sail on the horizon. The Exiles’ sails were red, so perhaps this was some new foe. New friends were scarce.
It was approaching fast. Far faster than any vessel he had seen before. In moments, it had traveled at least ten vika.
“Impossible!” Stefnir exclaimed to no one.
Suddenly, his eyes went from a focused squint to gaping shock. This was like no sea vessel he’d ever seen. The water was not crashing against its hull. It did not rest among the waves, but floated just above them.