Horizon Ridge Stubborn is as Stubborn does (Bjorn)

“I am a Berserker, mær, I do not fear death or the omnipresent words of a worried healer,” Björn spoke in a dismissive tone with a flick of his tail. Not to mention he had been the Jarl, the Chieftain and after he had taken the throne from his brother he had no interest in taking orders from another. The throne had not been his initial goal - no that honor had belonged to Björn’s of the time lover Tyra whom had belonged to his brother - but he had won it in the battle to the death nevertheless. “Odinn,” Björn spoke the Allfather’s name with reverence, caressing it with the tones of his voice. “Is the Allfather, mær. The God that rules all the other Gods, he is also the God of curiosity. With him I feel a deep connection, a kinship.” Björn was even prone to getting visions of Odinn though he was not particularly eager to share this tidbit with her simply because he did not think she would understand. She was not a Viking, she did not believe in his Gods. Odinn’s name and power held no weight with her and there was no need to go into extravagant details.

“Valhalla is where we go when we die. It is the hall of heroes where we feast and train to be in Odinn’s army so we can fight alongside the Gods in Ragnarøkkr which is our version of your apocalypse, I suppose. Except Ragnarøkkr isn’t so final. Not all our Gods will die, and two mortal survivors will live on to repopulate the new life. It’s a purging and rebirthing of this world, you could consider it.” It was hard for Björn to make connections so he could explain in words that she would better understand, especially when he did know what she believed in - if anything; and while his common tongue was fluent there was a lot he did not know, or understand of their cultures.

“I would rather you take them out, maiden,” Björn told her simply, because one: he liked her attention and two: he was not so sure water would flush all of the berries from his skin and Björn did not want to chance it. The ‘Jopi Weed’ was pushed towards him, and Caribbean blue eyes appraised the plant for a few seconds before he snuck a peek at her as she was busy pressing dressings to his wound. Scarred left ear swiveled back as he sniffed at the root apprehensively as a shudder of heat and chill rippled down the strong curve of his spine. With an affirmative snort the Viking drew the plant into his mouth and chewed upon it, the juices of the inside spilling into his mouth as he swallowed it, gazing his tongue against his upper teeth, craning his neck to the side to fix Thistle in a single eye again. “It tastes illr.” Björn’s tone made it clear that he didn’t like the taste of the jopi weed, but he took it if only to be rid of the delirium fever that the pain had chased away for a small measure of time, and Björn knew if he did not take that wretched plant then it would come back in full force - at least until his body had burned it out.

In the fever, he was not careful.