Dragoncrest Cliffs this is a modern fairy tale

Njord listened.

It was as if Meerkat took a whistling kettle off the burner.

One could watch the change in Njord’s wild demeanor. His movements became less erratic. The white of his eyes shrunk. The tempo of his breathing steadied as the vice-like clench of his jaw relaxed.

The final words, mo chride, disarmed him completely. Njord suddenly felt very naked and vulnerable.

At the same time, understood.

She knew. And now he knew that his wife had walked the same path.

Njord did not hesitate. He took a step toward her and wrapped his broad neck around hers in a tight embrace, head resting on her shoulder.  Would she pull away? After he had berated her so?

“Mo ghràidh,” he mumbled. Njord’s breath made the hair on her whithers sway like a wheat field in the wind. “When I found their blood trail… I was so scairt,” he admitted. “I thought… we’d have tae…” Njord suddenly became agitated again, the hair along his spine rising. “I willnae bury any of our children!” he choked the statement – maybe as a proclamation to whatever god or spirit listened.