The Isles are lit beneath the luminescent light of a full moon. It bathes the world around him in its silvery light, caresses the tree tops, and washes the sandy shore in its colors. He stands poised at the edge of the hissing and bubbling surf as it washes around his hooves; it tugs at the feathers of his legs and invites him into its depths. A breath leaves his quivering nostrils as glacial eyes focus on the distant smeer that is the crossing. How could one even begin to fathom all that has unfolded? War? Death... and now the disappearance of mares he never thought that would leave his shores.
A breath catches in his throat as he pushes himself into the surf, the frigid waters envelop around him and press their fingers deep into his smoky grey coat.
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"Father," young Björn whispered into the still night air. He knew that the gods were close to beckoning him to
Valhala. It brought pride to his heart to know that his father will feasting with the other warriors that have went before him, but why did it hurt to think of leaving on without him? As his father turned to look at him with those smoldering dark eyes, he immediately straightened his shoulders and puffed his chest - not wanting to appear weak before his father.
Björn, Verið hugrakkur jafnvel til dauðadags," he whispered to his son. The words wove themselves around Björn's young heart and he could feel it as it thrummed harder against his ribs. He would be brave, even until death.
I won't let you down," Björn said as he raised his bone white crown higher on his muscled neck. Never.
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Sea water runs in rivulets off of his coat as he steps from the surf. He pauses a moment on the hardened sand, water drips from the long ends of his mane and tail, and finally he shakes the excess water from his smoky coat. With a sigh on his lips he strides deeper into the crossing, his eyes search through the shadows and pauses as the shadows begin to morph. Glacial eyes grow wide as the shadows transform into those that he once knew. Dögun - his father. Freya - his mother. His heart stills in his chest. And he silently prays that they will always be there. Be apart of him.
He pushes himself deeper into the crossing and finally his eyes find mystical falls that so many come to see. He pauses momentarily. The water droplets catch the silverly light of the moon and dance beneath the its watchful gaze. The shadows of those he has loved and lost mingle and morph before his eyes. And yet he steps through it all to come to the mirrored pools edge, a few ripples contort his face as he looks down upon his own reflection. The three scars still mar the bridge of his nose, but there is a change that has taken place within him.
The icy warrior of the Norðurland still remains. But the foolishness of a young stallion has begun to disappear. It disappears and is replaced with the wisdom of an Overlord. Of a King.