Was it to always be this way? Him and Ysabel locked in an everlasting pissing match... Would that be their story whispered into the still midnight air. The Bera Konung and the Queen who hates to even set her eyes upon his bone white face. He shakes out his unkempt ebony mane as he contemplates the drama of their story. Had he ever meant for it to unfold this way? No. But it seems that it was destined to be this way.

"As do I," he says with a nod of his head. Askold, stríðssonur minn,

The tension melts away as their focus turns on their crimson son and Isabel as they try to initiate a game of tag. He quietly watches the duo, and lets his mind wander to his father and mother. Their lovestory was one that should be told beneath the sparkling, midnight sky. The love that they had felt for each other, had always been whispered to him as a colt. He vaguely remembers their embraces and the feeling of warmth that had overwhelmed him as a spindly legged colt.

His heart aches.

He turns his face away from them, his heart thunders wildly against his ribs. How he wishes his parents could be here. But they can't... he whispers bitterly. Your father is dead, the harsh reminder fills his head. His legs begin to shake despite the warmth of the evening. He clears his throat. "I... need some air," he turns away from them and steps a few strides away. Desperately he tries to regain his strength, to hold together the pieces of his life.

Askold, stríðssonur minn: askold my warrior son