The sound of wood striking wood echoed across the training ground as Rollo Lothbrok lunged at his nephew Bjørn. The morning air carried the crisp scent of pine and damp earth, with the faint saltiness of the nearby sea lingering on the breeze. “But you will die.” Rollo stated bluntly as he swiftly knocked Bjørn down onto the hard-packed dirt. The younger man grunted as his back hit the ground, the impact sending a shock through his body. Rollo offered a calloused hand, a low laugh rumbling in his chest as he helped Bjørn to his feet, a faint smile of amusement playing across his weathered face. From the edge of the training area came the soft sound of giggling, like wind chimes in the forest. Three young maidens stood clustered together near the wooden fence, their colorful woolen dresses a bright contrast against the muted tones of the village. They whispered behind their hands, eyes darting between the two shirtless warriors glistening with sweat in the morning sun. Bjørn's eyes lit up with youthful eagerness, his body shifting instinctively toward them before Rollo's arm shot out, a firm hand on his chest stopping him in his tracks without even sparing a glance toward the girls.