H
er smile warms her dark honey eyes as their gaze meets.
It's about time I won something, she says. Sigurdr can not ignore the weight that these few words carry. She - much like himself - carry the burden across their shoulders. He knows his own history chases him like
Hati chases
Mani, the moon, across the night sky.
Might as well be a contest over who has it worse." she adds with a chuckle. A smile draws his lips upward as he nods.
"maybe, it would be time for you to find another contest to win?" he asks with a tilt of his two toned skull. Perhaps, a race across the sands when the night grew dark and offered a cool breeze. One that he would gladly let her win - especially if it meant he could hear her laughter and see her sweet smile once more.
No, forgive me. I got a little too carried away with my troubles," she admits, her voice a bit strained.
My name is Kohelet.
Kohelet, a fitting name for the painted woman, he thinks to himself. His glacial blue eyes admire the delicate curve of her cheekbones and the way her skin glistens beneath the sun's rays.
What does Bjornson mean? "It simply means son of Bjorn," he pauses a breath as the memories of his fadir flood into his mind. From the first moments in the Ridge, to chasing brilliantly colored macaws together, and all the memories between then and now. He drew his gaze from her and settles it on the distant horizon.
"He is gone to Valhalla and his name is what tethers us to one another," there is pain in his words and a sadness that once again returns. He could laugh, flirt and joke with the beautiful maiden, but the pain is still fresh and anew.
He clears his throat, and asks her of where she would go if she could travel anywhere. A question. A distraction. Anything to draw him from his painful thoughts.
Luthien. She continues that she wants to avoid her family.
I could use a break from family. He nods as he understood the need. Salem would be a place he too, would avoid.
The space between them narrows as she pushes her whiskered muzzle towards him. But just as quickly she drew it back from him - as if she suddenly changed her mind in the moment. Her gaze is drawn from him and to where the sand meets the heavens.
And you... Sig, where would you go?" Where? Where could he go? Where could he go that wouldn't remind him of all that he has loss. Luthien, is nice. Atlantis, held to much pain. Tinuvel, beckoned him home. He is after all, a son of the North.
He eyes her as she shifts her weight on the sands and her gaze drawn elsewhere. He dares to close the narrow distance between them, his own muzzle carefully seeks the skin of her shoulder. If only to touch once, to feel the heat of her skin against his whiskered muzzle. A gentle reminder that she is not alone, in this desert wasteland.
"When I escape this place, I will travel the Isles seaching for my sisters and brothers. Luthien. Atlantis. And finally to Tinuvel," his words of promise hang in the narrow space between them. A promise of bloodshed, of battles yet to be fought.
"Kohelet, do you want to be free?" his tone is serious and his glacial eyes smolder with the promise of what is to come.
