Horizon Ridge Stubborn is as Stubborn does (Bjorn)

The fawn colored girl he knew simply as ‘Thistle’ because it was easier and less of a mouthful for him to attempt to pronounce, contradicted his statement of fact with a thorn of her own, going on about how that was before she was on the ‘scene’. Björn took that to mean before they had met. “Are you making comment about how my previous medic took care of me?” The Viking inquired, caribbean blue eyes smoldering at her, daring her to say what he thought she had been saying, though a coy smile tugged at the edges of Björn’s lips as if to say that he was not as annoyed as he had led her to believe. “Lame,” Björn repeated the word, noting how it sounded different coming from his lips than it had from her own - though that of course was majority of his accent. “Odinn would not let that happen mær,” Björn told Thistle with confidence, having whole and unwavering faith in his Gods, specifically the King God. “He has plans for me.” On such plans, Björn had no intent of sharing for he reckoned she would understand what those plans were in time. It was an enigma that he liked to keep close, a coveted secret.

“Scars tell you a lot about a man,” Björn agreed in a thoughtful tone as the burning numbed his nerves, scarred and unscarred ears slicking back to half mast. “Who or what he’s fought, where he comes from,” Björn spoke the last in a quieter tone, thinking of the scars on his left ear and left half of his face. “A man who fights for his home, his love, his people…will have many, hidden scars, but strip away his fur and they are there. They are memoirs of his deeds, deeds that will see him to Valhalla.” He peered back over his shoulder to fix her in a single, caribbean blue eyes fixed into the handsome portion of his face.

“I did not claim to be in pain,” This did not mean that he didn’t feel pain because he did, however Björn considered himself too much of a man to complain about it. Complaining wouldn’t fix it, anyway. “How are berries going to shrink my wound?” Björn questioned, holding still nevertheless as he felt the pressure of her pressing the berries into his wound. “And who is going to take them out, maiden?” He asked next, substituting the Norse word for it’s common tongue equivalent.