~ a withered heart, fluent in death
He sputters and spits the salty water from his mouth. The damned ocean tends to enjoy having her way with him it seems. A rolling wave catches him off guard and throws him down with all its weight onto the sandy shore. He lays there for a moment, glacial eyes blink as he tries to chase the salt water from his eyes.
"Fjandans sjó..." he grumbles to himself as another waves crashes down on his prone body, he kicks and thrashes until he stands on his feet. His silver mane clings to his muscular neck and sopping wet strands of forelock stick ot his forehead. He stands heaving in the frothing surf, his sides heave with each gulp of air.
He tromps from the sea and glacial eyes take in the barren wasteland that spreads out before him. Mountains of sand roll and tumble, the sultry heat presses itself on him and there is not a tree or bush to be seen. His mouth falls agape. Where in the hell did he end up?
Ears rotate within his silvery knotted mane as he listens for the approach of anyone. Of course not... who would live in such a wasteland? With a groan he steps forth into the land of sand and sultry heat. The sun beats down on him with every step, sapping any moisture left in his coat and in his body. He is an exhausted traveler who just seeks a place to lay his head.
-
He wanders from dune to dune and with each mountain of sand that is crested, there are 10 more that mock him. His mood begins to sour with each stride across the sands and he begins to loathe every step he takes.
"Helvíti sandur..." he grumbles. He wanders until finally he crests a dune and looks down upon a small creek that bubbles and twists through the sands. At-last, he draws on his reserves of strength and descends the dune in a trot. With a snort he reaches the bottom but did not see the pile of rocks at the bottom that were, not surprisingly, covered in sand. He stumbles over them. His legs buckle and he falls onto his knees and slides on the hardened sand. A squeal erupts from between parted lips and a long list of curse words exit his dark lips.
He grumbles and moans as he stands once again, but he then realizes he is not alone. He looks up at the woman who stands at the water and he instantly feels like a fool. He gives his head a shake as he strolls up to the water without glancing at the smoky colored woman again. Plus what would we even talk about? He growls silently to himself.
Translation:
Fjandans sjó: fucking sea
Helvíti sandur: fucking sand