~ where innocences burn in flames.
Beneath the silver light of the moon they had clashed, body against body and tooth against exposed muscles. He felt Ivar's teeth clamp down on his foreleg, they raked across his withers and scraped his shoulder; exposing muscles and sinew beneath his smoky hide. The pungent coppery smell of blood lingered in the air and its taste stayed on his tongue, long after they had split apart. He had stumbled away from his brother. Each stride drove him away from the battle; despite his muscles quivering from fatigue.
-
He stumbles through the shadows of the Forest, he does not care where his hooves bring him. His brother shows such seething hate for him and he does not know where it is born from. He has always loved his brother, despite every horrible thing his brother has done. Rape. Murder. Pillage and Plunder. All of these he has turned a blind eye to. He often even swept it to the side as if it never happened. And now the bastard had the balls to attack him. His ears lay against the muscles of his neck at the thought of his betrayal.
A low growl rumbles from between whiskered lips as the words of his brother whisper in his mind. I tasted her and she was delicious. You should try her some time. Björn still is not sure if his brother was taunting him or if his words really were the truth. He can never tell; when it comes to the venom that his brother spits.
Björn halts within a small quaint clearing, his head drops between his knees as he tries to process all that has happened over the last few hours. But he barely relaxes when the snapping and crashing of a body through the foliage jerks his head to attention. He squints into the deepening shadows, just as a body hurtles through the underbrush and slams into his shoulder. A grunt passes his lips as the impact pushes the air from his lugs in a whoosh. As the impact takes him off of his hooves and skids him across the grass and dirt at their hooves. He clinches his eyes tight as the pain explodes across his ribs.
"Ahh..Skítur," he moans as he pulls himself to a standing position. His glacial eyes narrow on the body of a woman and his ears disappear into his thick unkempt mane, ready to attack this insolent fool. "What in the fjandinn?" he growls as he stalks closer to his foe who now lays in a pile nearby. She lurches to stand just as his name is whispered from her quivering lips. Xiomara? Her words are small and barely audible in the still air.
As he draws closer to her, his heart clenches in his chest. Leaves and debris cling to her onyx locks, and tears streak down her bald face. His eyes widen as the realization sets in that there is someting dearly wrong with the warrioress. "I'm okay, Xiomara... " he says quietly as he closes the space between them.
Her body quivers and shakes with sobs as she whispers an apology, her voice full of emotion. And grief? His heart thunders wildly against his ribs. What has happened? "What has happened?" he questions her as his brow furrows. "Are you okay?"
His glacial eyes slider over her quivering body, despite the scrapes from her tumble; he does not see any further injuries. There is no pungent odor of a stallion on her sleek skin nor the fresh bite marks of War. He dares to close the sliver of distance, close enough to feel the heat from her body as he stands at her side. He lowers his thick crown until it is level with hers, and turns his head slightly to gaze upon her with soft glacial eyes. "I am here."
Translation:
Skítur: Shit
fjandinn: fuck
Björn - Icelandic mutt - 10 years old - Grullo Sabino
Bera Konung of the Ridge