This is a Private Roleplay between Kriddles and ThorsViking

There is a fine line between life and death. Humans seem to traverse its edge daily and amongst those some tease their own fate by the point of a sword or crushing blow of a warhammer. That's where we come in. We decide who is victorious in battle and who falls. We decide who is brought to Valhalla and who is sent to Fólkvangr. We are Odin's proud servants. We are the Valkyries.

A raven sat on the pine branch overlooking the fight. An old man had traveled miles for several years in search of his wife, only to be met by a band of thieves with a itch in their pocket.
Adelruna waited patiently as the man fought through the ambush, his strength still almost equivalent to his younger days. Snow fell guided by a cold wind that blew occasionally. It would tease the man's greyed beard as he whipped around swinging a hammer. The thunderous crack of a skull echoed in the field, causing the birds to stir before the soft "Ompf" came up from the snow.

She had been following this warrior for several days, protecting him and aiding him throughout the night. She had never made herself known with the exception of the raven, but he had never feared the bird. He only had pure determination to find something he would never find. The Valkyrie had taken pity on him and his worn heart, his mind deteriorating with the battles he has fought in hopes of finding his love, but being let down every time. There were even nights where he talked to the ceiling of a cave until he fell asleep.

Another thief fell, dead, into the snow. The old man charged at the final thief, blinded by the soft frost, and missing the unsheathed blade. It plunged through his clothing and into his gut catching him offguard. He pulled away, prepping to swing his hammer with a battlecry that shook the snow off the trees, before the blade plunged into his gut again... and again... and again. Adelruna watched, stepping forward, and with the last of the man's strength took the thief and snapped his neck. The thief's body fell into the snow as the man fell to his knees before finally laying on his back.

Adelruna stepped over to him, before kneeling beside him. This was Odin's wish today and she carried it out. A small smile crossed her face before extending a hand out to him. It was hard to tell whether it was out of pity or simple happiness. Either way he returned the smile and whispered his wife's name before he passed. She touched his chest, stirring the spirit from its resting place before letting her hand glide to his. The black wings on her back stretching before she took his hand and pulled his spirit to it's feet. Without so much as a word, they took off to the halls of Valhalla where he would feast, drink and plan for the days of Ragnarok.

She moved through the halls, her braid twisting behind her as her wings tucked themselves against her shoulders. Her feathered helm was tucked under her arm as she went to discuss her next task with her sisters and Odin.

It was snowing again. The wind was cutting through the pines along the cliffs edge. A small fire was burning as a pile of furs shivered.
“It’s too damn cold. What was I thinking?” Sigurd breath looked like thick fog in front of him. The sun was setting and the winter nights are long and cold.
He left the main force two days ago with 3 others. Galdr wanted to prove his metal so he volunteered to scout a head. Somehow Galdr and his two brothers talked Sigurd in to going with. They left him in the woods after the first night they were alone together.
“I should have known they would have left me.” Sigurd wasn’t the luckiest of men, and others considered him cursed. Galdr and his brothers left him to die for the good of the army. “I’m not cursed, just unlucky”
Sigurd shuffled out from under the furs. He was a large man, with fair features. Blonde hair, blue eyes, and a large bushy blonde beard. The stack of furs over his leather armor made him look like an animal. It was hard to believe he was still a young man.
He went to a nearby tree to relive himself before calling it a night.

"... What you are asking of us is to make a country fall... Fall prey to their enemies. Thousands will die, and for what purpose?" She said, before looking towards her sisters. Not one of them spoke out of turn, they simply stared at her or straight ahead.
"The purpose is for them to learn a lesson and keep from destroying themselves. This failure will birth victories in the future."
"... You can't honestly say you believe that! They will not survive to see any such victory, let alone win it."
"... Adelruna, silence." One of her sisters whispered before turning away from her again.
The bearded man raised his hand and motioned them off.

She stood there dumbfounded before turning away from the throne. A city with hundreds of innocent lives was about to be destroyed just to make a point... and she was going to have a hand in it.

We traveled fast, through the clouds, shuffling the iced water from where it massed. That's when I saw him. He wasn't much to look at from my angle, in fact I had almost mistaken him for a bear, but bears don't create fires. I turned and watched my sisters vanish from sight before landing beside the resting man.

He looked like a warrior, which made her wonder why he was not with his hunting group if they had been out looking for game. She gently took off her cloak and layered it atop his furs, to keep the frigid air from biting at exposed skin. She looked around to see if there were any men returning to him. None. A raven perched on a branch beside her before letting out one of it's shrill cries. Should she leave him here? No. It wasn't his time yet...

Sigurd woke up at dawn. He was awoken by the blinding light of the sun as it slowly rose.

“Blessings to the gods. Blessing Sol” He said as he rose from the pile of furs. It was still cold, ice cold as only bright winter days could be, but the sight of the sun, and with the wind died down it was as good as summer for Sigurd.

Sigurd stirred the coals and added some wood to the fire, no one could say he didn’t know how to survive. As the flames grew, he reached in to his satchel half covered with snow, and pulled out half a frozen rabbit. He had to stab the iced hunk of meat a couple time to be able to attach it to a pole he drove into the earth.

As the meat cooked Sigurd sized up his situation. He got separated from the scout group, but he knew where the main force was heading. They were ordered south by the lord or king or what ever. Sigurd hard a hard time with titles. One of the reasons people called him unlucky was because of a feast he called a wrong noble by a lower title, he was beat repeatedly for that mistake, and lost the chance to wed that nobles’ daughter.

The force was headed south, Sigurd watched the sun rise higher in to the sky he knew he had to make it down to the Fjord before night fall. That is were the village his people were headed toward, some larger community. The brother or cousin of who he was following controlled the land. The though made Sigurd ill. Brother verses Brother, he spat of the ground. Do we not have other enemies. Sigurd didn’t understand the politics all he did was thrust spears and swing axes.

South and then West he concluded.

The smell of the meat reached his nostrils. The thought of wild animals taking his breakfast worried him. He touched his side to ensure his axe was still there. Night will come quickly he thought. In winter some days the sun lasted only hours, he knew he had around 6 to make his way down to the Fjord.

The fjord has more trees, more small game he thought as he packed up his sad excuse for a camp, a bundle animal furs over some spruce boughs. As he slowly rolled them up he noticed something odd; a cloak. It wasn’t his, he tossed it a side an finished rolling his furs.

After he took the a closer look at the cloak. It was well made, carefully woven, nothing like the rough fur one Sigurd wore. The strange cloak was red, warm and Sigurd thought it smelt coppery. It reminded him of blood.

“The Aesir and Vanir came to me last night” he concluded, as he put the cloak on. The clasp was silver with the image of a winged spear.

“A gift deserves a gift.” Sigurd said as he ripped the choice piece off the haunch of the rabbit, and set it down on the ground by the fire. His father raised him to be a strong warrior, but also to be devote to the Asa and Van. “Thank you to whoever watched over me.”

Sigurd headed Southeast following the nearby steam. This should lead me down to the fjord he thought, then west; the village is to the west.

(OOC: Jeez... I did a lot of research for this post, and I am still unsure if I got it right. *Facepalm*)

She had long since left as he awoke. Her sisters had called to her during the night as she waited for dawn beside the man. She had guarded him for as long as she could've, in hopes that his kind would come and retrieve him. They never did. Few men wandered the wilderness alone, and majority of them were either crazed or very foolish. She questioned which of these he was. Whatever the case may have been, she had other matters to attend to.

She moved in close, looking down to what the others could see. A large band of men had started for a small village. "Scouts?" She questioned, they weren't charging the village.

A blonde glanced over at her with deep set blue eyes. "Militia." she said, barely parting her lips. Her pale skin gleamed like her armor as her thick and wavy hair was tied in a braid behind her. "They are recruiting anyone of age."

"For...?"

"A new breed is coming to our shores and what they are offering is their way or an blade's edge. It should be quite an event."

.Sigurd followed the stream which soon turned into a river. It was a lot warmer in the Fjord, and a lot more comfortable. However that did not change the fact that the days were short, and only getting shorter. He couldn’t travel at night but knew he couldn’t be far from the village.

“Maybe a days walk, I should have made better time then the army.” He spoke to him self half hoping for an answer. He kept marching forward, looking up every so often to look for smoke.

What would he say to the men who abandoned him to die. ‘I’m not unlucky.’ he thought. ‘If I was I would be dead, frozen on the cliff side.’ He smiled and ran his fingers down the red cloak. Did the captain put the 3 brothers up to the task to abandon him? Sigurd couldn’t be certain but the thought crossed his mind more then once.

“I should become a wander.” He said aloud. “Like Odin, the all-father, defend the weak, fight for honour and wisdom.”

Sigurd was skilled with a spear, better then most. He was almost married because of it. Some old noble, who didn’t have the decency to die in battle, offered his daughters hand to the winner of a melee. With Spear and shield, Sigurd won, and it was his tongue that made him lose it all. Unlucky…

They are not my people Sigurd decided. He was glad he had no family in the village he marched from, all died in battle, even his mom, a tough as nails drunk of a woman.

He saw the first sign of life near dusk, Smoke rose a little to the north west of where he stood. he headed towards the town.

There was a loose stone wall surrounding the village, but no guards were standing by.

‘Do they not know they will be attacked soon?’ Sigurd thought as he made his way past the first few long houses. He knew the ocean was near, he could smell the salt. In the center of town there was a long line up of people. Men and women, young and old. He asked what was going on.

A young red-headed boy, no more then 12 years, answered “There was a messenger from the south, attacks have been coming from sea. The messenger was badly hurt. Some thinks its other Northman, but not me, I think it’s the giants from across the great divide. There forming a Milita, I’m going to get my first spear. I cant wait to use it.” The boy quickly ran off with a couple other boys, excited to fight. Sigurd could relate. He was younger then they were when he first picked up a spear.

Sigurd knew most of the long ships were long gone raiding. It must be outsiders. This village has no real chance, especially if they are attacked by sea while being attacked by his old people.

He asked around for an Inn and paid for a room with his old rabbit skin cloak. The red one felt warmer anyway. He had to sleep to think straight. He didn’t know what to do.

The red cloak was visible from where they were, though only one paid attention to it. Herself. She couldn't help but feel a smile creep onto her face.

She played favorites. She'd be the first to admit it. Her choice in her champions however was questionable. She once chose a blind man who suffered from a pair of diseased lungs, but all she could see was a spirit that couldn't give up. He ended up taking down a small army guided by her hand before she escorted him to his next life. She muddled in their affairs, and while her sisters didn't much agree with it, they couldn't deny a few of the best she had taken under her wing... figuratively speaking. They wouldn't have given them a second glance. They only chose the strongest.

Time seemed to pass within seconds and the sun was already setting again, cloaking the approaching army and militia in darkness.

She landed softly, her wings folding as she waited outside the inn. A raven perching on the sill. It's wings shuffling, as it's head cocked to the side watching him with beady eyes. Blood was hinted in the breeze. They were almost here.

Sigurd was awoken by screaming. It was still dark. The room was pitch black, but Sigurd knew it was dawn. Dawn was the most dangerous time, everyone seems tired at dawn.

Sigurd jumped to his feet, and tossed on his armor. He knew what was going to be happening. He put his axe on his belt and grabbed his shield and spear. As he was leaving the small room he realised he was missing something. The cloak. He ran back in and clasped the cloak as quickly as he could.

“Odin give me wisdom, Thor give me strength, Frey give me Luck,” Sigurd said to himself as he left the building. Down the street there was building already enflamed, the light let him see his first kills of the night. Galdr and his 2 brothers were kicking a woman who stumbled out of the building as the fire stretched to the sky.

With a quick skip he threw his spear, it spun through the air with a slight arc. The point of the spear cut through the air making the faint sound of air being displaced. Galdr heard the sound and looked up. The point made contact with Galdr’s eye, and reveled itself through the back of his skull.

Galdrs brothers looked up and charged towards Sigurd. One had a two hand axe, the other a sword. The axe sliced down and missed Sigurd. His shield was raised to stop the strike if the sword. Sigurd grabbed the axe from his belt and drove the axe head through the leather armor of the axe man’s back. The man with the sword looked down at his younger brother, then he looked back at Galdr his eldest brother. Sigurd took his chance and drove his axe in to the Sword man’s head. He wasn’t even sure was his name was. Sigurd always made reference to all three as Galder and his brothers. That thought bothered him as he pulled the axe out of the man’s head.

He walked up to Galdrs corpse and plucked his spear from his body. Now who is unlucky, he thought as he gave the spear head a wipe against his pants to remove some blood. He looked over at the woman and told he to go and hide; he knew there were about fifty men who went out marching with him. The thought that he might have fought on the same side made of Galdr made Sigurd stop and be sick.

He wiped his mouth and prepared himself for his next fight.

The sun was still buried beneath the horizon, the only light coming from the amber glow of flames. Screams escaped women and children as Galdr and his warriors stalked through the small village.

Her wings flexed before she heard the sinking of footsteps in the snow and the saw the faint glimpse of the crimson cape from the corner of her eye. Her head swiveled around to see him toss the spear. She followed it with her gray eyes, before he plunged the ax into the man's back before twisting it out and breaking through the third man's skull. The subtle "thunk" followed by the cracking of fused bone played against the snow before fading quickly. Her bent over, releasing his stomach of it's burden. She placed a hand on his back, easing him up. A black feather dropping to the ground as several raven's glided through the air above them.

She was aiding the one she should've been fighting against. But to slaughter a village and it's neighbors, for nothing more than to make a statement?

She couldn't drag herself to do so. She looked around to see her sisters staring at her, looks of disapproval on their faces. Let them be. She turned away from them. She would likely be reprimanded for her disobedience, but that was neither here nor there at the moment.

The earth moved a little as the ground felt the low rumble of footsteps approaching. Men clad in furs and leathers bared weapons with dried blood on the tips and edges. There was no glory in this. She looked around, the only defense was Sigurd.

Two men came around the corner. One was the young red headed boy from the failed militia, the other a old man, past the fighting age. An arrow plunged itself in to the old man, the force sent him in to the boy causing him to stumble. The boy regained his footing and ran past Sigurd.

‘He was too young for this’ Sigurd thought as he readied his spear to be thrown again. A man with a bow rounded the corner and went to pick the old mans pockets. Sigurd released the spear and impaled the archer. He drew is axe again and moved forward.

The smoke was thick and sitting low, as if a black fog rolled in over the town. Sigurd dropped his shield as he plucked his spear from the dead archer as he felt his red cape move. Sigurd spun quickly, his cape tangling around the arm of his attacker, and drove his axe in to the mans back, severing the spine. The body dropped twitching. He quickly checked his cloak. There was no sign of damage. He was starting to love that cloak.

Sigurd looked left and right and darted inside a building. Two bodies laid dead and third, a woman was bleeding against a wall, pinned by a spear, with her throat half cut. The woman tried to speak but could barely make a sound. Sigurd got close to the woman, through the gurgling he could only make out two words before the woman died, baby and save.

He heard the faint sound of crying in the other room. He followed the noise, and under the bed was a child, recently born, now an orphan.

‘Monsters’ thought Sigurd, ’May the gods give me strength to kill every last one of them.’

She held still, the cries of the infant slowly growing louder throughout the walkways. It grieved for what it could not see, would never see again.

Would he take the child? Would he flee with it?

She looked out the window only to see several more approaching warriors, to finish off the village most likely. She touched his arm to give him awareness of the situation. However, she had already made her choice to stay by his side if he chose to fight.

"Why are you defending him?" The blonde was behind her, her blue eyes boring a hole in the back of Adelruna's skull.

"..." She held her tongue, frowning.

"This man isn't worth what you'll face..." the blonde said shaking her head. "Of all your orders don't tamper with this one. Leave your cloak with him if you wish, but then keep with your duties."

"... No."

‘No’ Sigurd thought as he glanced up. More men were coming. He slung his spear on his back, and bundled infant in the cloak still pined to himself. Sigurd didn’t dare take the cloak off.

With shield and child in hand, he ran toward the sea, maybe there would be a boat. He darted alley to alley, from house to house, keeping low in the heavy smoke from the burning buildings. His eyes stung from the coarse black air. His lungs burned. Sigurd wanted to stop moving, and fight and die, but instead he ran. Some things were more important then combat and death.

Sigurd looked down at the child and thought of his own father. Leif was his father name, Leif the Spear Priest. His feet pounded hard against the ground, his feet feeling heavy. He recalled his fathers teaching of Odin the all-father, and his travels across Midgard, the land of men. He recalled how the god had the weight of Ragnarok on his shoulders, and how all he could do is prolong life as long as he could, but in the end the end will come.

Sigurd ducked inside a building quickly, 3 men rushed past the door, luckily they didn’t see him. The child was warm and fell fast asleep in Sigurds arms. A smile made its way on to his face, but that was short lived. He was standing in a small building, but it was filled with the stench of death, 3 women, and 2 children lay dead at the foot of a wood statue. The stature that looked a lot like the goddess Frigga, wife of Odin, was practically split in to two by some great axe. Sigurd shook his head at the destruction and ran towards the sea again.

As he came upon the docks, a lone fishing boat stood in the water tethered to the dock post. ‘Salvation’ he thought. Sigurd head a loud smash of metal on metal. He noticed the red haired boy again, somehow the child managed to get a sword, but was using it poorly against a large man hit a large axe.

‘Maybe he was not too young’ Sigurd thought, as he noticed the boy was protecting a small group of villagers. The child blocked a couple hits from the large axe. Sigurd knew the axe, it belonged to Valum Bear-Blood. Valum was large, and was rumored to be part giant, he wasn’t even born, but cut out of his mother. Even Sigurd looked like a child compared to Valum.

The red haired child rolled away from a strike, and blocked another. Sigurd ran forward to help. With two steps Sigurd leaped in to the air, child and shield in hand. The large axe of Valum sung down again, this time meeting flesh, the death cry of the red headed child pieced the morning sky. Valum began to laugh, but was interrupted by Sigurd shield catching his neck and pulling them both to the ground. Bear blood landed on his back, and Sigurd landed on his feet. With the shield in his left hand, Sigurd began to slam the shield on to the neck of Valum. Sigurd screamed, and the infant stated crying again. Sigurd smashed the shield down again and again and again. Sigurd kept slamming it down against Valum’s until his neck was separated from his body. Sigurd painted wooden shield was in splinters, he shook it off his arm and held the infant close.

“To the boat,” he said quietly to the living town people as if dazed. Two old men, one old woman, a mother with her 3 children, and the woman Sigurd saved from Galdr boarded the boat. Sigurd was the last one on the boat. As the two old men took the oars of the small fishing boat Sigurd sat down along the starboard side and past out, child in arms as the town turned to ash.

She turned away from the blonde. A scowl on her face. The blonde Valkyrie grabbed Adelruna by the face, jerking her head to face the blue eyes again. "Remember your place. Odin has a reason for his judgement. These... people are stepping stones. Don't pity them."

She looked back at the onslaught, before turning back to the blonde. "You're right." She said quietly.

Pride flashed in the blonde's face. "Good. Now help us guide the dead." She said releasing the Valkyrie's face and turning.

"I never said I was returning with you." She quietly said before she brushed her hand along Valum's arm. A champion of the Blonde's. Marking him. Her grey eyes watching the blonde.
The blonde's nostrils flared, retaliating with a touch of her own. On the boy.
Almost instantly afterwards, the boy fell to the ax of the giant before Sigurd beat the large man, decapitating him with a strength that lacked in most.

They hesitated watching one another before as the events happened in their peripheral.

"Watch him closely... He'll need it now." the blonde finally growled as she grabbed the soul from Valum and pushed off from the ground.
Adelruna watched as she and several others took off, each guiding the fallen, before turning and looked over to the boy. She knelt beside him and placed a hand on his chest, stirring the free spirit at rest.

She was aware that Sigurd, child in hand, left with the boat full of women, children and two elders. But, made no motion towards them.

It was noon when Sigurd reopened his eyes. The boat was making its way along the coast line. The mast was open, and every gust shifted the travel of the fishing boat. The child was no longer in his arms he noticed, he was in the arms of the woman he rescued earlier in the morning. The child was suckling on her breasts. He realized the woman must have lost a child. Sigurd didn’t dare ask if it was nature or at the hands of his old kinsmen.

Sigurd tried to sit up, but pain shot up his body. His leather was cut up, and looked like rags blood had hardened and caked his undershirt to his flesh. His shield arm was more blood then flesh, a splinter was through his arm. The old woman was tending to his arm. She was small, he didn’t notice her.

The old woman had a strange voice; it was high pitched, higher than any Sigurd had heard before. She smiled as she cleaned the small wounds; the cloth she used was stained red by the blood. Wine was heated on a small fire in a brass dish. The old woman poured the hot wine on Sigurds wounds as she bandaged them.

Sigurd could not speak his chest and throat felt like they caved in. The old woman told his stories, tales from the past of forgotten kings, and heros. She spoke of monsters long dead, and the fairies that still tend the flowers. She spoke of the Vanir Frey, Son of Njord. She said how he came down to midgard and copulated with the fairies and mortal women. She claimed to be a granddaughter of Frey. The god copulated with her grandmother, a Fairy, who’s child mated with her mother.

The old woman’s name was Vana, named after the gods of the fairies, magic, and nature. Vana gave Sigurd a piece of wood to bite down on. The elderly woman grabbed the splinter of wood with both hands. She pulled the splinter out, and the blood poured out like a waterfall. The warriors head felt light. Vana poured the hot wine in to the wound. Sigurd bit hard on the wood but stayed conscious. The old woman grabbed a burning piece from the brass dish and pressed the flame against the wound. Burnt flesh filled Sigurds nose as his world went black again.

She was standing beside him again, the cloak draped over his resting body. They were in the house of a couple. It wasn't much to look at, but it kept them sheltered against the weather outside. The side of the home rattled against a harsh wind with a nip to it. Nothing decorated the room with the exception of the weaponry in the room with them. The other two could be heard in the hallway talking amongst themselves.

Her back was turned to him, her auburn hair loose from it's braid. Her body still in it's armor, however her wings were gone. Her breathing was steady, and her grey eyes were set on the door as she listened in to the conversation just beyond the door. Apparently the small army had grown from before. They had destroyed several villages over the span of five days. She slowly crossed her arms before she paced the room.

Her shield with engraved wings was pressed up against the corner of the room along with her blade.

(short post)

Sigurd dreamed he was standing on the ocean, frozen solid. To the north in the sky a giant ball of Ice shooting across the sky. There was no moon, no sun, and no stars. The sky was just black and endless. To the south fire burned and raged. An army marched north out of the flames as the ice ball crashed in to the earth. The ball of Ice hatched open as demons poured out.

Sigurd awoke in a warm bed under furs. As he sat up, pain shot up his arm.

“Drink,” he said softly his eyes felt heavy and couldn’t open. He spoke louder, “A drink”

“You’re finally awake. We thought we were going to lose you.” The voice was soft and sweet.

A stone cup was held up to Sigurd lips and he drank deeply. The water tasted bitter with hints of lemon.

His eyes opened slowly. The room was dimly lit; a small fire was burning in the heath. It was night. Sigurd knew it would be cold and windy, he could hear the wind. The room was small, and poorly decorated, a rough carved table sat in the corner. Sitting beside Sigurd was the woman he rescued.

“I’m glad you woke up.” The woman said pouring some more flavored water in to the cup. Sigurd though she was pretty. Long black hair, it was shinny and made him think of raven feathers. She had pretty green eyes, and full lips.

“Thank you.” Sigurds voice sounded like a grunt. His throat was sore, it felt like he was punched in his throat. He closed his eyes, and saw flashed of his dream.

“My names Runa,” The woman said, her voice quite and sweet,”What is yours?”

“Where’s the child?” Sigurds mind raced through the morning battle. He remembered the woman who sat beside him, he remembered seeing the red haired boys death, and he remembered saving the baby.

“The child is sleeping in the other room.” She had a smile on her face.

Sigurd stood up, his legs felt weak. He braced himself on the wall. He stood there sore and naked. His body bruised and swollen, yet his strength could not be denied. His muscles clearly defined under his flesh. His dark blond hair covered his chest and trailed down his stomach.

“Sigurd, my names Sigurd.” He finaly said realising she asked his name.

“You shouldn’t stand” She said worried.

“Where are my clothes?” he grabed a pelt noticing his own nakedness, and wrapped himself in it. He couldn’t look Runa in the eyes. He had never been with a woman and he was embarrassed.

“The old woman, Vana, washed them; they are in the other room.” She was still sitting looking over Sigurd.

“Could you get them?” Sigurd said impatiently still unable to look at Runa.

“Of course.” She said leaving the room.

Sigurd sat on the bed, his body ached with every move, he thought of the battle he fought, the child and the woman Runa, and he thought of the dream he had.

She slowly made her way outside as the woman, Runa, cared for Sigurd.

The weather would've unmanned any sane person. It howled with the lives it had taken before, yet the bite that it held didn't phase her. Her hair whipped in front of her face as she watched the black mass roll by above her. Only did she catch brief glimpses of the moon as flurries touched her cheeks.

Something shuffled in the nearby wood, taking her attention away from the dreary sky and to the noise. She watched the area closely for several minutes, it failing to move again. She hesitated, debating whether going and investigating, before she finally started back inside.

Runa was gone, and Sigurd sat on the bed when she entered the room again. He looked weary, the events haven taken a toll on him. She slowly set down beside the man, and placed a hand on his back in hopes of aiding his battle-worn body in some way. As Runa walked back in, she stood and held still by his sword.

Night turned to day has Sigurd dressed himself. A surge of strength flowed through him; the warmth reminded him of his red cloak. His leather, rough spun tunic and furs felt warm, yet caused his wounds to ache. He walked out of the small room, using his spear as a walking stick. The door opened to a larger common room, a fire burned in the center. Runa was feeding the infant child and the old woman Vana sat cooking by the fire.

“It is good to see you up,” said the old woman. Her silver hair was woven in to a large braid.

“I need air,” Sigurd said gruffly. This throat would allow him to speak normally. “Where is my cloak?”

“Yes,” the old woman said. She grabbed the cloak off the wall. She draped it around his neck, and then she closed the silver spear clasp. The woman smiled at the clasp.

Sigurd made his way out side. The sun broke through the flurries and the sky was clearing. The fresh new snow was untouched by man or beast. He made his way around the small cabin. It looked as if it hadn’t been used since fall. Season cabins are not unheard off, spring brings hunters and fisherman north. The fishing boat appeared to have gone. Sigurd made a note to ask the two women where the others went.

He walked along the tree line, towards the sea. It seemed calm and the sight made him feel at peace, and almost made him forget the blood his spear spilt.
As he made his way back to the cabin, he noticed a large foot print in the snow. It looked like a bear, only larger. The beast appeared to walk on two feet. Sigurd followed the footprints. They fully surrounded the cabin. The trail went out in to the thick of the woods. The newly fallen snow caused a snowdrift making the trail disappear.

The wind picked up slightly, the snow kicking up from the ground only to twist in the air. The untouched snow glimmered underneath the sunlight tempting anyone to take a step into it's hidden depths.

A black feather rested on one of the tracks, before being picked back up and into the wood. The wood shifted, but had you not been paying attention you would've never seen it. The wind died just as suddenly as it had picked up, small flurries of snow falling back down to earth as the sun proudly gleamed in the sky.

A white rabbit hopped out from behind a tree, freezing as if just realizing Sigurd was there. It's nose twitching, smelling the air before slowly hopping away into the thickened wood.

Sigurd could feel the chill as the wind picked up. His sore body shook as the icy breeze cut through the stitching in his furs. His lungs burned as he breathed in the cool air. The short winter days were getting shorter Sigurd recalled as the already began to make its decent back down from the sky.

“The wolves are running faster,” Sigurd said aloud. The though amused him. The tales of the god were woven throughout his childhood, his weapon training punctuated by the poems and songs. The wolf he made reference to chased the sun across the sky. Soon the moon would appear, chased by its own wolf.

Sigurd made his way back to the cabin. He had to tell Vana, the elderly woman, about the strange bear prints in the wood. She claimed to be the granddaughter of the Vanir Frey. Sigurd knew that the Aesir gave Frey Álfheimr, the realm of the Elves and fairies. Maybe the old woman held some knowledge of the unknown. The sun set lower in the sky as Sigurd approached the cabin.

In front of the cabin a deer was grazing on some grass tuffs that poked through the snow. The deer was clearly male and stood tall and majestic as the fur clad warrior approached. The deers antlers were large and perfectly symmetrical. The deer met Sigurd’s eyes and the animal jolted in to the woods. As he approached the door he could hear the noise of the singing.

The voice made him not notice the deer left no foot prints.

The night came faster and faster, the melody from the cabin dancing off the untouched snow as more fell to the ground below, layering atop the last.

A young boy from the village sat at the table, skinning a rabbit's hide. He couldn't have been more than thirteen years old with a voice that had yet to deepen. He growled trying to force the dulled blade between the skin and the muscle of the rabbit's hunch, but considering the rabbit had more muscle than he did it was proving to be a challenge. He blinked scratching his brown hair that was scraggly and oiled down by dirt, sweat and time. His face was probably his strongest feature. Pure blue eyes stared down at the meat, analyzing the best way to get the most leverage. Just below them was a prominent nose, thin lips and a square chin... all of which made him appear older than his age and looked out of place on his thin body.

Several hours and a skinned rabbit later, there was a muffled knock on the door.

The old woman, Vana, stood up from her spot around the small table. Her pale green eyes, grayed over by time, met the blue eyes of the young boy who came to the cabin, she recognised him from her old village but could not recall his name. She knew she’s heard it, and was sure she helped deliver this child into the world. But old age had robbed Vana of such memories.

The boy came shortly after Sigurd left the warmth of the cabin, and he came with a dead rabbit in hand. He looked weather worn, and was guessing the trek that took them a day by boat, took the boy days. She watched The boy struggle with his dead rabbit and she watched Runa sing to the small infant child. Vana knew the song well, it was the same one her grandfather sung to her a lifetime ago.

Vana was the first to hear the muffled knock at the door. She knew the warrior Sigurd was out walking, and with the knock realized the latch of the door had fallen, not allowing it to swing open.

With the latch undone, the door opened and a cold rush of air entered the small cabin. A large wall of fur stood at the low door way, the point of a spear followed the cold air, and then the mass of furs. Sigurd closed at latched the door behind him. He shook off the snow and removed a top layer of furs. Held up by his spear he looked around the room and ended at the old woman.

“Vana, Runa, child.” the warrior spoke. His voice a growl, still sounding pained, yet relaxed and happy. The warrior looked at the boy “,Who are you, boy?”

The boy, who was seated near the fireplace, turned to look at Sigurd with the coldness of the unwelcome wind against his face. Instantly his nose and the apples of his cheeks flushed red. "E-Eirik..." His voice cracked under the sudden stress. "I followed you. Well... tried to... I lost your tracks a couple of times and again when the new snow fell last night." the words rushed out of his mouth. "I brought a rabbit. Hunted and skinned it all by myself." he finally added, this time holding a bit of strength and pride beneath the insecurity of being put on the spot. It was obvious the boy was a nervous wreck, his hands never ceasing to stop as he tried and explain his being here.

Sigurd couldn’t help but smile at the boy, but the bushy beard hid the smile from the blue eyes of the boy. A different blue then his own Sigurd noted, The boy had a deep blue eyes, like the ocain, while his own was more cold and icy. In a lot of ways the boy was like him at that age: eager to please and resourceful. The journey would have killed a lesser man.

“You did good boy, but you skin a rabbit like a girl.” Sigurd wanted to sound playful about it but the pain from his injuries made it sound like spite. He knew the boy would be disappointed. Sigurd looked toward the old woman Vana, and asked her to come in to the back room with him.

Once the boy Erik and the woman Runa were far enough away not to hear Sigurd began to tell of the prints he saw in the snow.

“The were bear-like, only larger.” Sigurd told the old Woman. Fear crossed Vana’s eyes. “The stride was all wrong, as if it walked like a man.” Years of hunting and tracking made him astute, as was most men raised in the cold.

“The cold brings the kin of the Jotnar.” Vana’s voice was a whisper as if she feared the word would cause the creatures to come. “Maybe it is they that bring the cold. Horrid beasts of ice, blood, and flesh. Abominations made by the unholy union of Humans and Jotnar. I fear these tracks may belong to one. Perhaps that is why this cabin is abandoned when the snow flies.”

“What does it want,” Sigurd griped his spear tight, worried about what she would say next. Sigurds fear made it’s self reality with what Vana said next.

“It smells the infant. It wishes to feast”

With that the pressure of the cabin shifted as the front door opened and closed again, the same unwelcome cold slithering into the otherwise warm shelter.

The boy looked out into the wilderness, his eyes fixated on something in the distance. He was light, bearly sinking into the ever growing floor of snow. His hair slapping his face any time he teeter tottered against the occasional gust of wind. However, when he did sink, he paid for it. The cold pressed in on his thin frame and soaked through his clothing. Uncomfortable was probably an understatement, but his eyes never lost sight of the thing. He pressed his lips together before slipping past the first layer of trees.

The wind died down a little after that, which he was grateful for. He had come with a bow and quiver, hand carved by him (which was why his knife was so dull). His arms could barely pull the arrow taught against the string but it was enough to have killed the last rabbit, and this animal looked large enough to feed them for a week. If he wanted to prove his worth it was now. As he stalked closer he finally saw what the blur was, he nocked an arrow before looking down his line of sight and pulled it tight. The muscles that he did have tightened and snaked around his arm, before he released.
It shot through the forest, but ended up in the bark of a tree shaking a bit of snow free. He swore quietly before watching the animal dart, and started to track it once more.