You are born for high deeds, princeling.

Many would venture from the dark to the light, but it takes a stout breast to voyage into the farther dark." And Biorn's small heart swelled, for he detected praise, though he did not know what Leif meant.
In the long winter the sun never topped Sunfell, and when the gales blew and the snow drifted there were lights in the hall the day long.

In Biorn's first recollection the winters were spent by his mother's side, while she and her maids spun the wool of the last clipping.

She was a fair woman out of the Western Isles, all brown and golden as it seemed to him, and her voice was softer than the hard ringing speech of the Wick folk.

She told him island stories about gentle fairies and good-humoured elves who lived in a green windy country by summer seas, and her air would be wistful as if she thought of her lost home.