wolf's teeth are near.
Ivar lingers within the shadows, every muscle in his body aches with exhaustion. Every move leaves his shoulder searing with pain. "You got your rass handed to you Ivar," Fenrir taunts. Ivar's ears disappear into his inky unkempt mane. "Žegišu! Fenrir," Ivar hisses under his breath, his dark eyes flick over the others who gather in the meadow. None even lift their heads to acknowledge Fenrir. The little bastaršur hangs around him, taunting him, insuring his everlasting torture.
A woman catchs Ivars attention, her scent wafts around him as she slips right by him without a single glance at him. A wicked sneer crosses his dark lips. He steps from the shadows, his shoulder only causing him a slight limp. Crusty blood can barely seen against his inky black coat. His hooves are soundless against the soft grasses of the meadow.
As draws near to her, her scent is mixed with that of someone he knew very well. His brother. A growl slips from his lips, where was the no good son of tikur. What good fortune he has been blessed with, to end up on the same islands as his brother. As he nears her, his ears bury deep into his mane. "If you want him to live, you'll tell me where he is," he says with a growl
Translation:
Žegišu!: shut your mouth
bastaršur: bastard
tikur: bitch
Icelandic - Smoky Black - Stallion - 14.2 hh - Dögun x Unknown