not chosen of the gods
björn x siobhan
Things had been quiet so far for the young boy. Quiet… too quiet. So quiet, in fact, that it seemed his arrival into the world had hardly caused a ripple in the stillness of it all. Six months had come and gone, and here he simply was. Here he was, and here he would be. As the days passed he grew bolder, more curious. Stronger. Far, far stronger. The days spread on into weeks. The weeks into months. The months into seasons. Two entire seasons gone by… and here he was.
Sindri didn’t much care for the quiet. He was wild eyed, high strung. Everything about him was bursting with energy. Bursting at the seams. It was as if there were far too many things for him to do, and not enough time to do them. Not enough company to do them with. His sides ached. His heart ached. All the colt wanted to do was run, was romp, was… well, okay, was pester nearly everyone around him. Still, even they were out of reach.
He was grateful for his father’s call when it came, shattering the crystalline stillness of the Inlet. On too long, too spindly legs, he raced in that direction. Sindri is fast already, too fast for his own good. A borderline unholy terror. Unholy. That’s true, there’s something truly unholy about the colt. Unholy. Unrepentant. Ah yes, that will only become clear in time.
No, for now, Sindri is just a child. All elbows. He’s almost unable to stop himself as he nears his father, legs splaying this way and that. “Hi dad,” Sindri crows, finally staggering to a halt. One thing is for certain– if Björn doesn’t move, his son will come crashing into his side.
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