Tess rubbed her hands over her swollen belly as she watched Dax cross swords with their young son Hugo. He was only ten years but nearly a man by Norse standards. Soon his father would take him to sea with him. Their six-year-old son Cull tugged on his mother’s skirt. “Mama, when can I sail?”
“When you are grown, darling.” Tess smiled, tousling his golden curls.
Tess flinched when Dax brought his wooden sword down hard on Hugo snapping his own and sending him stumbling back until he fell on his bottom. His long blonde locks are filthy with the mud from his many tumbles.
“I wish you would not be so hard on the boy Dax; you could hurt him.” She protested.
“An enemy will not spare him simply because he is a child. The boy must know how to
