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May 3, 2004
It was during their tenth day at sea that Sean began to wonder if they would ever actually sight Iceland. The wind was running fast from the south, so the captain had ordered the oars taken in, giving Sean a chance to stretch his aching arms and chew some of the dried fish that the North-Men called food. They were a quiet lot, these strange barbarians he had fallen in with; the blond warriors were not much for gossip or idle chatter, and Sean found himself with hours, if not entire days, in which to think and watch the sea.