easy to find what's wrong

For @Pump. The more I learn about Björn the more he kind of frightens me, lol. xD And I'm...not sure what sort of happened in this. xD

It had been a few days since the landslide, and there had still been no sign of the boy king. Not that it was entirely just of Björn to think of him as such for Björn himself hadn’t been any older than the Kesuk-Nereides when he challenged his “older” brother to a fight to the deal all for the fleeting desire of a woman. The helm had not been what Björn had been after but as the sun had began it’s descent into the earth that night it was he that stood a victor in a warm pool of his brother’s life blood. With Björn’s victory came the title of Jarl and the woman, though Tyra had not been an object of his affection for long. He had been too young at the time to impregnate her and he disregarded her when he learned that she had played him in his own game and sought the arms of another man. As it was, she was lucky she lived today because Björn had contemplated tearing her insides out as an example, to bathe in her life blood and wear her intestines like some kind of savage. Perhaps, he was, but he was not a man to cross; as it was she lived only because his resolve softened when she gave herself to him a last time, letting him bathe in her beauty instead of her blood before he banished her for committing the very 'crimes' he had with a pretty little thing he took as his wife soon after.

In the boy king’s absence (for Björn could not accurately pronounce his name and therefore chose not to even think it), the hybrid female had taken up temporary leadership until he was found or found his way back to them. Their hope was misplaced, the Viking feared but did not speak. They had found most of the survivors by now, and he saw a shimmer of an opportunity. He was new, yes, but he saw no sense in continuing on with pre-made traditions when the boy was not around to uphold them. Björn was not sure whether the hybrid realized it yet or not, but she was basically the only leader they had, though the Viking could only wonder if she knew how to lead. He was hesitant, rudely so, about following a hybrid but he was nothing if not conniving. Perhaps there was something for him to gain in this, as well. He had hoped to speak with her - he knew not her name (and if he did know it he couldn’t remember it) - but had been slumbering off the painkillers the fawn girl had given to him. She kept coming around to check on his wound even though he grew irritated with her ‘fussing’. She was a pretty little thing, Björn had noticed, but the scent of another man clung to her fur - not that, in truth, that had ever stopped the scarred Nord before.

Despite his snappish behavior, he was sometimes willing to let her fuss over him - if only because he rather liked the attention. It reminded him of Sif in pleasant ways, though the two were different. The gash on his shoulder was scabbing and itching but he pushed himself to his paws, ignoring the medic’s previous orders of ‘rest’. He had, had enough of rest. Now, he had a mission, selfish though it was and while he did not perceive that it would accomplish anything, Björn was not the kind to hold back for fear of failure.