Stone Circle stand next to the spire of my crumbling

Noma does not react in any sort of desirable way and whatever Wardruna had been expecting ( for some reason it did not occur to him that she would react with fear ) it hadn’t been that. She yelps, crashes into him and then goes still upon the ground. For a moment it threatens to ruin his jovial mood, the dark clouds threatening to roll in and storm upon him. He frowns tersely down at her, seized by a sudden flare of anger that she is so fearful of him. Where was the fire? That burning defiance that though it undeniably frustrates him he cannot help but like ( and truly he’s tried not to )? He feels …insulted. He does not think he’s hurt her — at least not physically. Blackmailing her into being his thrall well that was a technicality. They’d bet upon it, after all, and Wardruna had won. As far as the northerner has cause to be concerned: he had every right to ensure his prize stayed as such. “You sleep as the dead do,” He remarks with bite to his tone, brooding in the sting of bad mood her ( perfectly reasonable and normal ) reaction had given him. ”Come. Eat.” Wardruna tries to make these words softer, to craft them as an invitation in lieu of a command but the words force themselves out briskly enough to lean more towards something that teeters in the in-between ( but undeniably closer to command ). He flicks his tail as he turns abruptly in the small space and shrugs out of the den, stepping around the plump fox he’s brought to her.

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