A Day of Splinters and Stumbles

Greetings, kin. Bjorn here. Today, Britannia tested my spirit, not my strength. I sought to build, but the trees themselves seemed to laugh. My axe sang, but found no worthy timber. My plans required boards, but I had only one. The forests of Britain? Elusive. I walked in circles, it seems.

Yet, a Northman does not only measure a day by what he makes, but by what he learns. I learned the lay of a new land during my one successful trek. I learned patience, though my axe arm aches with unused vigor. Tomorrow, the wood will fall. Tomorrow, the bench will be built.

For now, I nurse my pride and my splinters. Skål.