Firestone Hot Springs each must die someday

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The vivid dreams of his father were more frequent than they’d ever been, sometimes they were red, angry and harsh and other times they were blue: calming and encouraging, but regardless each time he woke up panting, overheated despite the cold that seeped into the mouth of the den he shared with his wife and son, nestled close to them to share his body heat and Kjalarr thinks of them now, wrapped so easily in the catacombs of his thoughts. For a brief moment he gives pause, the coarse winter guard hairs prickling as he feels Skadi’s presence, her acceptance of his sacrifice. She is pleased with what he offers her and all Kjalarr can do is hope that she does not revoke her favor. She is said to be as beautiful and as merciless as the storms she conjures and he does not deign to upset her or offer her anything less than she deserves. Still, he is one man and does what he can to keep himself and his family in her favor, hoping that it is enough.

Kjalarr? The timbres of boyish youth called out to the Viking. For a long moment, the colossus considers not stopping as he knows the tone not to be that of Torgeir. He takes a few more steps, enveloping and welcoming the steam as they rise from the pools, letting the writhing steam wash over him. Cleanse him. It feels good and he considers if Arille is old enough to survive the trip to them. The steam would be good for him, Kjalarr thinks, but despite himself he is beckoned and he stops, turning scarred visage to the speaker. He has not spoken with his younger cousins at any sort of length but as Kaskara has currently stepped down from her spot at his side Kjalarr carries the burden of leadership alone and his time is limited between his duties and his den-ridden wife and infant son. Regardless, the northman recognizes Rian on sight alone. “Rian.” There is slight surprise carries in the deep, accented resonance of his own voice, giving away to what he did not ask: why are you out here? Skadi’s ice storm was not safe to be wandering about in and just being out of the den was running the very real risk of freezing to death. Kjalarr almost had as he dared to make his way back to Neverwinter Forest after the storm had stranded him in Blacktail Deer Plateau, and he knew that he only had his will to keeping pushing forward and the favor of his Gods to thank for it.

The boy’s half raised tail and scrutinizing gaze did not go unnoticed by the heathen who drew back, deliberating between amusement and annoyance. He was surprise to see this kind of resistance because Kaskara herself had supported his rise and for a while they had operated as a team. Kjalarr’s chin lifts — the only acknowledgment and retaliation he casts to the boy’s posture (for the moment). “Why are you not with your mother and siblings?”

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