To say Ragna was upset would be an understatement. Her dagger was broken. The stupid hard packed dirt of Oed chipped the blade. Her first inclination had been to take it to Uncle Oddvar to fix. He had made it after all. He wasn’t here though. Terje wasn’t and neither was Blair. There was no one. She had no clan. That was how it felt. Like exile. Runa was willing to be útlagi. Ragna was not. She was miserable, and she was giving in to quite the pity party while Seamus was gone - doing useful work that he enjoyed. He was making strides to prepare for the clan. She
was useless.

And now her dagger was broken. The one Uncle Oddvar made for Aunt Trine and Aunt Trine had left to her when she died. She had to get it fixed. So she ventured out seeking, not quite hopeful, to find a
blacksmith on this rock.

She entered the first weapon shop she found and walked toward the counter. The smell of hot metal and extreme heat wafting from the back was promising.

Ragna McKenzie