The forest thundered with the noises of screaming, crying and barbaric screeches. Kangee climbed up the tree, ignoring all the cuts and scrapes he acquired on the way. The savage Vikings swarmed the city, spilling the blood of all the Algonquin inhabitants. The low-toned voices of the Vikings screamed their warriors cries after every kill, and if hurt Kangee each time to here it. As much as Kangee wanted to help, he couldn’t. He was all alone, and a solo defense against the entire Viking tribe was hopeless.

 They had arrived without warning, casting flames upon the huts and attacking from all directions. It was late morning, and Kangee was out hunting. Moments passed, and as quickly as the Vikings came, they vanished. Kangee lowered himself from the tree and gripped tightly on his blade, Shadowbane, a sword forged and retrieved from a Viking. The moment Kangee saw the village, his heart sank. The huts, once alluring and wonderfully made, were now large piles of thick, degrading ashes. The soil, once fertile and wonderful, was now charcoal black, and covered in blood and corpses. And the air, the air that was once an enlightening aroma of nature’s beauty, was now a burning stink of burnt flesh and wood. The image stuck a spark that massaged Kangee’s conscience. The peaceful Algonquin village was now banks of rubble. Kangee fell to his knees, a throbbing pain his throat grew, and a burning bitterness filled his eyes. The aroma pierced Kangee’s nose.

 Kangee knew of another Algonquin tribe to east, the direction the sun raised. The throbbing pain in his throat did not depart from him, it actually grew worse. The idea of leaving all he had known was agonizing, but actually doing it was something different. Kangee watched the sun reach its highest point. He could see all of natures allure and noticed it glisten in the light. He suspected he would reach the tribe by the next morning, but he could not be sure as he has not wandered this far in all of his life.

***

 The village was larger and more populated then he expected. Hunters flashed their recent trophies to one another, and women skinned hides. Kangee approached a middle aged man. “Good morning to you friend,” spoke the man. “may I help you in any way?” Kangee smiled at the man. “I am looking for the leaders of this village, the elder council” exclaimed Kangee. He was excited to speak to another person again, in fact, the man reminded him of his father in many ways: tan, fair haired, muscular. The man spoke suddenly. “The elder council holds in the large long house behind me. Good day, my brother.” “Good day.” replied Kangee. The village had a distinct smell too it, a nice smell. It reminded him of the lovely cuts of fresh, juicy meat from a moose his mother made, and the restful air that flowed through the air as tender bannock was baked. Kangee made his way to the elder council.