Floki paces back and forth across the shore, anxiously looking up at the treetops.

It has been some time since Diaval the magic raven left to find the farm that Helga spoke of. She had given Ragnar the directions she received from a boy who'd been sent in secret. She herself had never been that way before, and so could not say what the journey would be like. Sending the raven out ahead would at least ensure they were going the right way.

Of course, Helga had no idea the raven was part of the plan.

In the meantime, Ragnar's men have been unloading the ships and repacking the supplies for travel on foot.

Only two ships are docked. There should have been four. But the anger of the gods claimed half of the returning party in a fierce storm.

There is no time to grieve.

Floki wrings his hands and keeps his eyes raised toward the trees.

"Floki, eat something," Helga says, coming up to him with two bowls of stew and handing him one of them. She has kept the hearth burning all day with food for the men. "We have a long walk ahead of us. ...What are you looking for?"

Floki takes the bowl and warms his hands with it, still looking upward.

"A sign from Odin," he says simply, before lifting the bowl to his lips.