In this mini-series, I am offering up three short stories, two of them based on true stories (ie: true in spirit, not necessarily to the letter), the other a total fabrication. You decide.
3. Flower Pot
They slapped Svori on the back, drank tankards of ale with him, and made merry for three days. And when they left, they promised Svori they would tell no one where he lived. And finally Svori’s secret came out. He came from a fierce family of raiders – the youngest of six sons. Growing up, he had hated raiding and killing, and preferred to spend his time in the fields and messing about with flowers – activities unsuited to a warrior - until his brothers mockingly began to call him Flower Pot. He grew more and more miserable, and finally in desperation, signed up with a crew of merchants and so came to the Isle of Man. His brothers were all dead – killed in raids and battles and presumably bourn to the halls of Valhalla. As for Svori, he lived to a ripe old age surrounded by his family and friends and gentle to the end, and when he died, he was buried at the edge of a green space that has been known ever since as Svoridale Park.