To me it feels like exile, but to my son it is an adventure. Days of sailing. No land in sight. Every day the land we left forever draws closer. Finally, the new harbour. We tie up to the rude jetty, unload the trade goods and wait.
They come and my son dances with excitement.
“Look, look! They are no taller than me!”
My hand on his shoulder, we offer greetings. They grunt and accept the trade for their wrought steel.
Later, I find my son at their fire, smiling, laughing, hearing tales. I visit. This land will be his.