The Lost Islands
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Meadow

Force-claiming is not allowed here. This is a peaceful, neutral area meant for socialising.

A soldier on my own,



I'm frozen to the bones, I am...




I'm sorry Da... her words are just a whisper between them. "My dear dottir, it is not your fault." he pauses as his glacial eyes meet her dark gaze. There is a sadness and a longing in her eyes, there is a softness to her that could not be found in her mother. He was not a soft man either, but he hopes that in between the layers of ice there is a warmth. A warmth that he could offer to her now that he has returned to the Isles, that even though he had missed most of her life to this point, that somehow he could make it up to her. That now, the could have the relationship that he knows, deep down she craves.

He nods as she continues, mentioning that his stories would keep his father alive. But just as he opens his maw to speak, Nyimara makes her entrance.

His body goes rigid beneath her gaze. Malice and vengeance bubbles beneath her russet hide as she glares down at him. Defiantly he raises his head, glacial eyes narrow and a scowl contorts his face. He tires of her games.

Liar. the word echoes in the air around him. He may be many things, but liar was not one of them. "Sigurdr is on Atlantis," he says with a flick of his tail across his haunches "and Skosgra is here as well, she came with us from the norðurland." He owes her no explanation. They were his children as well, he had kept a close eye on them and watched as they grew into fearsome warriors.

He can not help but revel in her reaction at Siobhan's name. The growl that erupts from her lips or how she writhes in smoldering anger. A smirk crawls across his lips and then he tsks his tongue against the roof of his mouth in disapproval. "Still holding on to the past Nyimara, it seems to me. That everyone has moved on... except for you. You cling to the past," he pauses dramatically "because that is all you have left. You have chased off anyone who could love you."

He goads and presses her buttons, just to watch her react with a hiss and a tantrum. As their bodies press together momentarily, there is a breath before instantly they withdraw from each other with a snap of their teeth. You are nothing more than a declawed bear. No warrior. No King. He pushes himself farther from her, and pivots to face her completely. As the tense seconds tick by, his gaze shifts to Raksha, she pleads with them not to fight. Desperately he wants to go to her side, to wrap his neck around her and tell her it would all be alright. But until Nyimara had retreated back into the dark crevice she had pulled herself from, he would battle with her - in order - to protect the ones that he loved.

"Is that not your fate Nyimara?" he asks with a growl "to leave the whole Isles in chaos and shambles, to tread over anyone who loves or once did? I hear the whispers and they do not speak kindly of what you have done."

Finally, Raksha's pleads break through Nyimara;s anger and for a moment the woman softens. There. There she is. A mother who cares for her children. There is the flicker of tender love that Björn had felt. She was there. But buried beneath layers of vengeance and hatred. And then like the fading warmth of summer, it is gone and replaced with the icy glare he has come accustomed to. His abandonment cannot hurt us anymore.

He huffs an exasperated sigh. "I didn't want to abandon Raksha," he pauses as his eyes slide to his dottir and then back to Nyimara "but no matter what I say, Nyimara, you will twist my words to suit your agenda."

An agenda that included hurting Siobhan again, sowing chaos wherever she set hoof and insuring that he would never have a peace. His glacial eyes narrow as he takes in his once lover and queen. "Even if I apologized, you would find a way to hurt the ones I love." he jerks his head away from her and sets his glacial gaze anywhere but on her. For a moment silence passes between them before finally he sighs and returns his attention to them.

"Raksha, you are more than welcome anywhere that I adventure, from here to the norðurland." he then slides his gaze to Nyimara "and I believe if its best, if we part ways."




B j ö r n


Bera Konung of the Inlet

Icelandic Mutt // 15 years old // 14.2 hh // Grullo Sabino // Stallion // Dogun x Freya

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