There is a cruel duality to life. For every birth there is a death; for every gain there is loss. For Grímúlfur, this hard truth has never been more relevant than now, in the rattling of lungs that had once expelled battle cries, the ache of limbs that had once pummelled his enemies, and the metallic tang of blood in his mouth that, for once, is not someone else’s.

There is cruelty to be found, also, in the brightening of the lavender sky to the east even as Grim’s senses grow more numb with every step. For a time his slow, shuffling movements are propelled by a stubborn, spiteful will to live - to do as his enemies would have him not - but when his thoughts become so sluggish that it is a concerted effort to simply remember where he is, his focus becomes solely to keep moving without any thought as to where his feet take him.

If he can keep moving until the sun has risen and blessed him with its warmth upon his back, he may just live.

What little awareness he has left of his surroundings is not enough for him to react to the attack in time, however. One moment his eyelids are drifting closed, the early morning landscape blurring in his vision as exhaustion calls his name; the next there’s a scream, strangely muffled and distant - as though his ears are stuffed with cotton wool - and then the world is sideways, and he’s in the snow on his side, the breath savagely ripped from his chest and his mouth full of fresh blood where he’s bitten his tongue. Blue-brown eyes flying open, he gasps for air, blood bubbling from his lips, and gapes up at the stocky bundle of red fur before him. It takes a moment for his vision to stop swimming, but as the mare comes into focus, he sees that it is her: a vision, a beauty. His Frigg.

“Refur Kona,” he hisses his pet name for the mare, and he manages a weak, disbelieving smile until he processes the fury and disgust on her face. His expression darkening, he coughs once and makes a futile attempt to sit upright as blood drips from his pale lips onto the snow below. “My vixen,” he continues, his voice like grinding stones. “They tricked you too?”

Even as the words leave his mouth, he cannot remember who ‘they’ are, or why they would have tricked his beautiful Frigg, his Fox Woman. In the meager hope she might have some answers for him, Grim stares imploringly up at her. “I did it… I did it all for you. The bastard won’t hurt you ever again. Don’t believe their lies.”