Björn where innocence is burned in flames
The rumble of thunder in the distance warns of the oncoming storm. Thick ominous clouds roll across the sky, forewarning of the wrath that is about to befall the Islands. Björn's thick skull lifts high on his muscled crest, glacial eyes lift to the himnaríki. A flash of ligtning lights up the sky, and the gusty winds go still. It is the breath before the exhale, a quiet moment before a torrential of rain will pour down on the Islands inhabitants.
Björn moves quietly across the commons, his hooves inaudible to the ear as he transverses the wide meadow. A single drop of rain touches his shoulder, it is followed by more, and with that the storm unleashes it fury. Within a few minutes, his smoky colored hide is dyed an inky black color. His thick unkempt ebony mane is dripping wet, sopping wet. A soft snort escapes his nostrils. "Ah skítur!" He curses out loud. He despises being soaking wet, like that of a mangy mongrel.
He slows to a halt, south of the Meadow, his thick skull swiveling to and fro. He has found himself in a opening that had at-least some protection from the blustering winds. Björn closes his glacial eyes, and listens to the sounds of the storm as it rages on. He can feel the rains across his broad back, the rolling sounds of thunder over his head. Thor watches over him tonight.
Much has changed for Björn, he is no longer the carefree colt of the Forest. He is older, and life has given him experiences that have shaped him into the man he is today. He has seen his far share of war, felt the sting of blunt teeth across his body, and seen the aftermath of plundering a village. He tries his best to push the demons down, but they continually rear their ugly head. Reminding him of the pain that he has left in the aftermath of a raid. The cries of the broken mothers as they look down upon the bodies of their lifeless children. Pain wells up in his chest, it was either them or him. At-least that is what he had told himself. They had orders to follow, even if these orders were ugly.
Björn's glacial eyes open and he shits his gaze to the thundering ominous sky. He lets the rain wash across his bald face, tears mix with the rain as it trickles down his cheeks. "Afhverju ég?" He yells into the rain as it pours down upon him. He stands there for a few minutes, letting the chilly rain cleanse him. He drops his thick head and opens his glacial eyes. He can feel the torrent of rain beginning to wane, soon the ominous clouds would begin to dissipate.
He steps through the veil of rain, his glacial eyes squint against the night. A dark shape begins to form in the inky black night. He cautiously steps forth, his ears stand erect amongst his thick mess of ebony mane. A defeated voice whispers in the night. “If you are wise, you’ll leave me." Björn can hear the pang of defeat in her voice. "It is in these times when we need someone the most, " Björn says quietly. His voice is deep and thick with a northern accent. He dares to step closer to the woman, she begins to take shape before his eyes. Her coat was golden, and splashed with the white of ivory. His breath catches in his throat, she is falleg. But she holds shame deep within her bones.
“I feel I am cursed, you see. Misfortune follows wherever I go, and I keep only misery for company." The words were sad, and broken. His glacial eyes soften, her words drip with the pain that she holds within her. "If óheppni follows you. Than how do you explain us meeting?" He lets his question fill the space between them. "I feel your fortune changing, gullna. "
Translation:
himnaríki: heavens
Ah skítur!: ah shit!
Afhverju ég?: Why me?
falleg: beautiful
óheppni: bad luck
gullna: Golden one
Icelandic mutt - Grullo Sabino - Stallion - 14.3 hh - Dögun x Freya
King of the Ridge
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