Ragnar and Val finally reached the outskirts of the tribe's settlement as the afternoon sun dipped lower, painting the thatched roofs and dirt paths in warm amber hues.
Dust clung to their boots from the long hunt, and the weight of the slain boar still pulled at Val's broad shoulders.
Ragnar clapped a hand on his companion's back. "Take the boar to the butcher's stall and sell what you can. Meet me back at the house later, I have something to handle first."
Val gave a short nod, hefting the massive carcass higher onto his shoulder without complaint.
He turned in the opposite direction, his heavy footsteps fading down the wider market path.
Ragnar's lips curved into a slow, private smirk.
He adjusted the strap of his leather satchel and started across the village at an easy stride, eyes scanning the familiar faces and huddled doorways.
The tribe had its unspoken rules, and one of them was clear: milfs were unwanted, shunned, left to scrape by on the edges of everything.
