The oar felt good in Olaf's hands, it was a dark stained oak. Where his hands went the wood was worn and cool to the touch. He smiled and rowed on. The gang on the galley were a motley bunch, but hard and experienced. Some were missing fingers and had scars on their faces like the first mate. Olaf hated it here already. "Well boy, just keep your head down and your ears open for anything threatening."