Stavanger Bay little memories, marching on

Short post! Eat him, Grimmy! EAT HIM UP!

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Maybe Szymon should have corrected Isengrim’s attitude toward his eldest sister — or at least called Isengrim to task for his defiance to his father — but the expression that shaped his stoic features was one of fierce pride instead. His treatment of Isengrim differed from his treatment of Qilaq and Julep, for although he doted on his girls, tough love was his weapon of choice with the incorrigible boy. “Angry, Isengrim?” he asked, a wicked grin playing about the corners of his scarred mouth. “Come and show me how angry.”

Without consulting either of the children or his wife, Szymon had determined that Julep and Isengrim would be warhounds as he was, and part of that was learning to challenge emotion into physical action. Though it was best to keep a cool head in combat situations, the black-banded Leviathan felt it couldn’t hurt to get a little berserker rage going in his gunmetal firstborn. He bowed in an exaggerated invitation to play, moving stiffly, abandoning Qilaq’s game for one that was perhaps more fitting for his sharp-fanged son. Pride at Isengrim’s defiance and his spitfire mien arose within the young father, flashing bright and warm in his golden eyes. He laughed for the sheer joy of it. “Come, Isengrim, great warrior. Teach me a lesson.”

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