Swiftcurrent Creek Reflektor

"—and daughters," Proudheart was quick to quip, to which he chuffed and nodded. A brief interlude of silence then came from him, as she was overtaken by the urge to speak, and he was eager to listen. It was rare now that Njal used his native tongue. It was an odd language in this place. Ill-suited to the plains of their previous home, and to the Seahawk Valley. Perhaps it fit in the wilds? The muddied mix of Russian inflections with Norse roots, and butchered Icelandic. His family was a mix of winter beasts that had long ago replaced their skin with the iron of the mountain, and the blood in their veins with the slick ice-water of the fjords. To think that Proudheart would latch upon that foreign side of himself was thrilling; she showed a connection to the phrase he uttered, and Njal's heart swelled.

When quiet laughter pealed from his wife, Njal found his smile growing larger. The feeling in his heart near to bursting, now flooding him with adoration. He would live with that laughter forever; they were destined to be together, always. "Suits us well... don't you think?" She commented and he nodded again, although the bow of his head became a nuzzle as he drew close. With a warm breath upon her neck he muttered, "Then we shall take it as our own." They were suited for it; she the fire, and he the mountain. They would burn together. "Tuwawi Svejiarn has a ring to it." A soft chuckle rumbled from his chest, deepening his words for a moment. "Njal Sveijarn -- Do you like it?" He playfully nudged her with his nose, a shock of cold between their heated bodies.