He waved to Vol, sticking his hand up in a friendly greeting. It was evident to the man that the giant marching at the front was their leader. What man of that size wouldn't be the leader of such a party?
"What the hell are they up to?" He murmured to himself, feeling a distinct level of threat pouring down the hillside. His name was Carm Sigurd and his spring raids had been plentiful, by his own estimation. A good few slaves, and a few chests of treasure. It was enough to keep him going until next year.
His friendly greeting went unanswered. He thought that to be strange. Even if a raider was an unfriendly sort, he would still give a begrudging raise of his hand to indicate that he didn't mean any trouble – not that there was really that much trouble to be had amongst newcomers.
