A smile spreads across his pink lip as she fumbles over his native language. Her tongue twists and contorts yet she manages to speak the word into existence. "You will be speaking my native tongue in no time." He chuckles hoping to fill the space between them with warmth. The silence between them spreads like the inky dark night and with a single shake of her delicate head, she denies her good fortune.
You cannot be real. She insists. The words struck him with the weight of Thor's mighty hammer. How many times has he felt like a draugur? A ghost of his former self. He has been left broken. Just the shell of a once joy filled, naive young boy playing on the shores of the Inlet. He had frolicked there next his mother's side as she enjoyed the lush spring grasses, always a watchful eye on her precious child. She had told him more than once what he meant to her. His mother had always filled his head with stories of his father, the great Pony King of the Inlet. These were the fond memories, that pulled him back from the brink of being nothing more than a draugur.
Björn's eyes grow wide as she lurches forward and smacks him square in the nose, jerking him from his memories. The sting spreads across the brim of nose, reminding him that he was not a draugur, and that he was indeed real. Her words of awe exit her lips as if she really had doubted that he was of flesh and blood. "Já, as real as they come," he retorts, with the stinging of his nose to remind him so.
A flash of blinding light, illuminates the meadow around them. For one brief moment, he gets a glimpse of her curves, the delicate arch of her neck, and the uncertainty in her eyes. A yearning deep within his belly rises, he wants to be near to her, to feel her touch against his hide. To comfort her, and just for this moment, whisper to her that everything will be just fine.
She steps to him once more this time, slower and more wary of where she places her delicate nose. Her scent wafts into his quivering nostrils, her scent was sweet, yet it was not the only one upon her sopping wet coat. A faint scent lingers, an unmistakable male essence. He swallows hard as the pieces of the puzzle begin to tumble into place. His heart clenches as her head finds the crook of his neck. Deep down, he wishes he could deny her, to send her away from him. Shooing her and her problems onto the next man, yet, he can not bring himself to even utter a word.
"You are a fool. She says with a sob. A smirk touches his pink lips, her words, not unfamiliar to his ears. She continues to speak ominously about how wisdom abandons him, he waits patiently for her to vent her frustrations. "Trust me, gullna, I have been called worse," he whispers to her. With a breath he continues. "You let me worry bout me, and you..." He closes the distance between pressing his smoky hide against her. He can feel the shivers racking her body, and the sobs with each breath.
"Því er lokið. Hallaðu inn í mig, ég er hérna," he breathes into her dark mane. His words comforting and low, only meant to be heard by her. A soft roll of thunder rumbles in the distance. "What is your name, gullna? "
Translation:
draugur: ghost
Já: yes
gullna: golden one
Því er lokið. Hallaðu inn í mig, ég er hérna: It is over. Lean into me, I am here.
Icelandic mutt - Grullo Sabino - Stallion - 14.3 hh - Dögun x Freya
King of the Ridge