~ a withered heart, fluent in death
A sliver of a silvery moon hangs silently in the blanket of sparkling stars - it is a clear night - 'cept for a distant thunderstorm that rumbles in the distance. It threatens to furiously bare down on him with torrential rain and blinding strikes of lightning. It seems
Loki has a wicked sense of humor.
Sköll kicks wildly against the sea, kicking against her cold embrace and her threat of taking him into her dark embrace. He does not know how long he as been swimming, all he knows is the screaming ache of exhausted muscles and their protest to the overexertion. Yet, he presses on with every ounce of strength, willing more from his protesting muscles and aching body. He closes his eyes and presses on, silently praying to his gods to provide him the strength.
-
"Faðir," yearling Sköll cries out, his excitement vibrated his silvery spotted hide. His father had just returned from another raid, carrying himself proudly, so Sköll knew that it had been succesful. He kicks out with excitement, he had not seen his father in months since they had left on their raid. And he had so much to tell him! He had bested one of the toughest fighters and he had learned some new fighting moves that he was sure his father would be proud of and he grew stronger. But as the yearling trotted up to his
Faðir he immediately knew that he was not happy to see him.
His ears laced against his neck as he came down on his son.
"Þú ert hálfviti!" he roared at his illegitimate son as his blunt teeth connected with the soft skin of his neck. Sköll did not cry out, nor did he make a sound as his father punished him.
He took blow after blow until finally he blacked out.
His frosty eyes fluttered open, to find his father gone and an aching body with every moment he made. A whimper escaped his lips as he crawled to his hooves and shrank into the shadows of the lodgepole pines. There he stayed until his mother found him, she closed the distance with tears in her eyes. She did not speak, just wrapped her son in a warm embrace. When she finally spoke, her words were barely audible to his fuzzy ears.
"Sköll, Faðir þinn er sárt... svo hann særir þig út af mér," she paused as her voice cracked.
"Hann varð ástfanginn af þræli .." she said as she turned her spotted face away, the shame written across her face.
-
The dull roar of the sea crashing on a distant beach draws him from his musing. The scents that assault his nose, are foreign... a mixture of leaves, musty wood, and the sharp coppery odor of blood. He hesitates within the surf, as it bubbles and hisses around his feathered legs. His ears rotate within a mess of tangled and sopping wet silver hair. Where in the actual
fjandinn is he? He steps through the surf, his frosty eyes search the shadows of the trees that line the sandy shore.
A thundering crash comes from within the shadows it is accompanied by the sound of splintering wood and the dull thud of hooves against flesh, freezes him there on the shore. In a split second chaos ensues, as a pair of battling horses burst on to the beach. They lunge at each other's throats, and guttural screams fill the once still midnight air. Every instinct in his body screams at him to move! He lunges away from them as they threaten to overtake him, he wills his numb legs to run. They weakly answer as he plunges into the thick foliage. Branches smack him across the face and thick limbs scrape across his side. He gallops wildly through the underbrush, his eyes ringed with white.
Just as he thinks he has found safety, his body collides with another. A scream erupts out of his opened maw as the momentum takes him off of his feet and slides him on his side into the trunk of a near by tree. The air from his lungs whooshes out of his flaring nostrils, leaving him gasping for air. He desperately sucks for air as he feebly climbs to his hooves to face whomever he had collided with. His glacial eyes narrow as he looks for his opponent and his ears disappear into his tangled mess of silver hair.
"Hvað í fjandanum er athugavert við þig!?" he yells, his words laced with venom. Insuring that she knew he was pissed at her for getting in his way. He waits impatiently for the idiot to answer before he decides if he would attack her for her insolence. But as she makes her self known, his frosty eyes pop in surprise... a fellow
Norðlendingur?
Translation:
Faðir: Father
Þú ert hálfviti: You are an idiot
Faðir þinn er sárt: your father hurts.
svo hann særir þig út af mér : so he hurts you, because of me
Hann varð ástfanginn af þræl: He fell in love with a slave
Hvað í fjandanum er athugavert við þig!?: What in the hell is wrong with you!?
Norðlendingur: Northlander