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“The haunting bellow of the sentry horns sounded across the Greenland Fjords as the night mists settled between the jagged, rocky, half-frozen shores. Ifar the Shepherd hurried from his flock. Beyond the coast skirted by his grazing land he could see the shadowy shape of the incoming knarr as it pushed through the deepening fog. Slowly the masts emerged above it. Ifar turned toward the hilltop. There stood the magnificent earthen Mead Hall of King Lief, son of Eirik the Red. Though the karls who worked the lands already came running from the fishing houses and the farms and the lumber sites, Ifar could not pass up the opportunity. He gathered his horn from hip and blew with all his might.” — Max Davine
The haunting bellow of the sentry horns sounded across the Greenland Fjords as the night mists settled between the jagged, rocky, half-frozen shores. Ifar the Shepherd hurried from his flock. Beyond the coast skirted by his grazing land he could see the shadowy shape of the incoming knarr as it pushed through the deepening fog. Slowly the masts emerged above it. Ifar turned toward the hilltop. There stood the magnificent earthen Mead Hall of King Lief, son of Eirik the Red. Though the karls who worked the lands already came running from the fishing houses and the farms and the lumber sites, Ifar could not pass up the opportunity. He gathered his horn from hip and blew with all his might.