1873; United States | @offreedom
It had been a long journey — understatement of the century, really. It was only merciful he already resided in Denmark at the time, or he would have been forced to add a leg out from Iceland, also. He had boarded the ship in Copenhagen just over a month prior, despite the extensive fussing of his brother and the attempts to convince him otherwise. This trip would likely have been exhausting for just about anyone, let alone someone of Eirik's fragile constitution. Their relationship was close, if not a little on the codependent side, and he had great qualms about his frail little brother making the month long journey to the New World. But Eirik was stubborn as a mule, as he always had been, and he insisted that the trip might be good for him. There was no way to change his mind, ultimately.
It had, indeed, been exhausting. Eirik realised fairly quickly after leaving the port in Leith that this was not going to be an easy trip. There were simply too many people in cramped quarters, although it was made slightly easier upon learning that a fair few of these passengers were fellow Icelanders, emigrating. There was also the issue of the coal-burning ship, which Eirik hadn't accounted for, and nerves growing by the second as he wondered what awaited him on the other side of the Atlantic. He had spent the voyage mostly reading and writing, or socialising with his countrymen. On the days where his body buckled under the exhaustion or illness snuck up on him - which, he'd never admit to his brother, happened more ofren than he'd like - he always found his people sitting by his bed to keep him company. The trip was long, but a nice little community was formed, and he even gave several his address in Copenhagen so they could write one another once they had settled. Something in him ached, knowing they were leaving their home under these circumstances, but Eirik couldn't blame them. Laki had affected them all.
The trip from New York to West Virginia was much quieter, and Eirik found himself yearning for the companionship of his fellow Icelanders, or his brother across the Atlantic. But it was a short ride, in comparison - only about 7 hours - and although he tried to sleep, he simply couldn't. The views outside the windows were dim, but unlike anything he'd seen in Iceland. Everything here was so incredibly huge, as well - especially what little he saw of New York. It was rather overwhelming, but nothing moreso than the uncertainty of what awaited him on his arrival into West Virginia. The entirety of the train ride was spent fidgeting, staring out windows, drumming his heel, waiting.
When the train docks, he feels like he can't move. But here he is: West Virginia, United States of America. How grand.
He can feel himself shaking as he steps off the train, and his breathing is audibly rasping. People push past him off the train and he looks rather unnerved by the hustle-and-bustle, but then the crowd parts and he's the only one left on the platform. Not that he was hard to spot in the first place: a young man, probably bordering on eighteen, as white as snow and looking completely bewildered. And he is easily spotted; his eyes land on a woman he believes might be Abigail, and she looks back at him. Timidly, he gives her a little half-smile and waves, but he's hesitant to close the distance himself in case he might be wrong. This is all so... New, after all.
