— he couldn't stand the bitter thing he'd become.
his wings had burned, and his halo had shattered.
he didn't know how long he'd been running, only that he hadn't stopped in hours. the days moved in one blur, heady, black, and cold. he stopped to drink, to eat what he could find; a hare, berries. then he ran again. he hardly slept.
his movements are sluggish as he parts the spring foliage, flowering and resplendent in new growth; paws shuffling against the dewy grass of morn. the trickle of a stream melts against his ears that hardly bare the strength to remain standing; eventually they fold against his charcoal head, ignorant to anything but the sound of his own breathing.
the sound of his heart beating. he was still alive. and he nearly collapses at the waters edge, dunking his snout first and then fully submerging his head into the icy waters. he drinks in heavy gasps and gulps, relishing in the cool swathe of taiga water down his throat. his mouth taste of blood; iron, warm, where saliva pools in the corners of paling lips.
he contemplates for a second not tearing his head free of the waters.
The skjaldbrjótr thundered through the taiga with vengeance. With steps that threatened to crack the earth beneath him; with hands that had once crushed skulls beneath their pressure. Jaws that were meant to saw and crush bone ajar with pants. A heavy, old hide of a grizzly slain long ago blankets his back. Fresh wounds adorn his sturdy limbs; a result of a clash with rogues who'd dared steal one of his kills. It was merely a prick at the wall of muscle, merely an annoyance as he searched for his kin.
The sound of rushing water, coupled with the scent of another, draws him forth. Deep-set eyes narrowed with intent, now honed in on a fagr lítill vargr. head dipped beneath the currents, deafening him. Leaving him vulnerable. A deep, pleased rumble stirs in the Viking's chest as he does not prowl forward, but thunders. His presence is alarming, foreboding, and yet there is no malice in his eyes. Not yet. Instead, curiosity. Attraction.
A womanly figure, dark and ash-kissed. He decides then, that this little wolf will be his.
Muscle coils tight beneath broad, battered shoulders. His massive head tilting, eyes voraciously traveling down those slender sides. His chuckle is deep and gravelly. "Why little wolf trying to breathe water?"
The sound of rushing water, coupled with the scent of another, draws him forth. Deep-set eyes narrowed with intent, now honed in on a fagr lítill vargr. head dipped beneath the currents, deafening him. Leaving him vulnerable. A deep, pleased rumble stirs in the Viking's chest as he does not prowl forward, but thunders. His presence is alarming, foreboding, and yet there is no malice in his eyes. Not yet. Instead, curiosity. Attraction.
A womanly figure, dark and ash-kissed. He decides then, that this little wolf will be his.
Muscle coils tight beneath broad, battered shoulders. His massive head tilting, eyes voraciously traveling down those slender sides. His chuckle is deep and gravelly. "Why little wolf trying to breathe water?"
— clayfall jerks back from the stream, water slinging off his chin in silver arcs, lungs gasping. he stumbles, half-tripping in the mud, pale legs shivering beneath cold and fear and exhaustion.
staring with wild emerald eyes burning from a face too gaunt, too hollow. the scent of the northman hits him next. musk and old blood. a wall of red and shadow.
his voice comes low and ragged. eyes flashing with alarm, hackles pricking immediately. alarm bells ringing in his mind that already spun with hundreds of toxic webs.
fuck off.he snaps. a feral thing pinned to a corner, legs cautiously twitching to move. to back away.
April 22, 2025, 10:19 AM
Fuck off. Vörðr's laughter is booming and boisterous, filling the silence of the glade with thunder. His little wolf is feisty! Deep-set eyes wrinkle with his amusement. He doesn't move forward—not yet, when the feminine man seems so close to bolting. He wasn't looking to harm...but simply to take when the time was right.
"Aye, little wolf have fire! This good." He rumbles with a smirk, the blood of fallen still staining his broad and crooked muzzle. "Why so upset? I mean no harm." A lie, perhaps; should the man behave, he wouldn't bite and ruin a coat so pretty.
Leaning down, the behemoth tilts his head. "You are man? Or woman?" Eyes roving once again over that slight figure. He could used so more meat on his bones, and the Viking would be happy to provide.
"Aye, little wolf have fire! This good." He rumbles with a smirk, the blood of fallen still staining his broad and crooked muzzle. "Why so upset? I mean no harm." A lie, perhaps; should the man behave, he wouldn't bite and ruin a coat so pretty.
Leaning down, the behemoth tilts his head. "You are man? Or woman?" Eyes roving once again over that slight figure. He could used so more meat on his bones, and the Viking would be happy to provide.
April 22, 2025, 10:46 AM
— he flinches—visibly—ears flattening hard against his skull, tail curling low. for a split second, his legs don’t move at all. just twitch, locked between fight and flight. the man's voice is booming and rattles him to his very core.
don’t fucking touch me!his teeth clack, pallid tongue flicking across his teeth. but he's tired, so tired, and can hardly think to put up much of a fight. and not against this... behemoth!
the question makes his stomach twist. he doesn’t answer it. clayfall lifts his chin—defiant. jaw clenching, teeth gnashing, his breath ragged. he lashes out. snapping his teeth, hackles bristling.
he will bolt at any second.
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