<font face=noto serif hk color=#605d68 style="font-size:11px; text-shadow: 0 0 5px #605d68; letter-spacing: 1px; "> <i>better to be a wolf of Odin%01

better to be a wolf of Odin,
Posted on January 11, 2024 at 03:37:08 AM by FLOK�

better to be a wolf of Odin, than a lamb of God;

Darkness shrouds the isles - save the sliver of the moon - that is hidden within a featureless grey blanket. Frigid. Bitter cold. All described the frozen land that spread out in either direction. It presses in on him - the dark, the cold - its tendrils poke into his dense winter pelt. The warrior viking stands motionless. Stoic. Only his glacial eyes move, peering into the dark, noting the scraggly pines who stand guard at the edge of the ocean, the faint outline of the jagged mountains beyond.

He had heard rumor of this place, the tales of Tinuvel. All of them from his fadir. He hated his fadir.

A scowl contorts his whiskered muzzle at the thought of the man. He was glad that the bastar�ur was dead. His only regret is that he wasn't the one who ended his pathetic life. What had he even accomplished in his life? None speak his name in reverence. None recall his victories... NONE. Well... except Bj�rn. But his fokking br��ir had always been the favorite. A low growl rumbles in his throat at the thought of his elder br��ir.

Fl�n.

He swivels his thick skull to his left, his cold gaze shifts down the icy, pebbled shore. A dense fog rolls from the ocean's surface and conceals the intruder from prying eyes. Silently, he steps from the ocean's surf and across the pebbled shore - the rocks shift and squeak beneath his weight. Then once more his hooves moves soundlessly through the fresh powdered snow. He treads lightly along the ocean's shore, his eyes scan the darkness and his fuzz tipped ears gather in all of the foreign sounds around him. His breath plumes around his nostrils and frost clings to his whiskers and eyelashes.

He is no stranger to the frigid chill of this harsh environment. It is much like the nor�urland. Brutal. Unforgiving. Cold. This foreign land and him are more akin then he would ever begin to imagine.

Flok� treks along the ocean's edge until he comes to a babbling creek that empties into the salt water beyond. Ice clings to the banks, and offers only fresh water in the middle where the water stubbornly refuses to freeze. Carefully, the dun stallion picks his way across the frozen creek bed and into the frigid water where he slurps up his fill.

With his thirst quenched, he steps from the creek and sets his gaze on the distant jutting mountain peaks. No one had stopped him yet... so why not explore the land his fadir would never shut his mouth about.

F l o k � Icelandic x Georgian Grande
15 hh - Stallion - Bay Dun Sabino
D�gun x Freya

html, art & Flok� � erin | pixel base � fintron | Ref Here

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