Crooked Bridges: Day Three

Greenland, 999 AD:

A horn blows in the distance, the warriors and watchmen ready themselves, peering into the night. A single light appears, a spark in the ashen darkness. The sound of hooves on hard-packed earth heralds his coming, his horn sounds again, this time the clear eyed among the Greenlanders see a gold gleam as the rider raises it to his lips.

The steed, almost exhausted, skids to a stop in front of the gate, dust billowing in the lantern light. The rider does not dismount, but cries from below in their own language, his voice hoarse from the dust of his ride.

"Has the ship sailed? I know the tide turns at midnight, and one of the crew... "

"Traveler, I know not know who you are, or why you want to know, but Eric's Son has sailed with Noon tide," the captain of the guard returned.

The Messenger bowed his head.