Ravensblood Forest I'll take your breath away

Hope you don't mind me! I have a lot of muse for Sköll and this looked lonely! And this will be before he attempts to join WGI too. :p

The sea was calming to Sköll, whom had grown up on it’s precipice where Odinn’s Cove ended to a tumulus cropping of jagged and craggy earth on the drop to the murky depth of the sea that was sometimes calm and sometimes slammed against the earth with it’s fury. It was a treacherous drop — if the rocks didn’t crush the bones in a body on the way down the sea smash it against the rocks and rip it apart well enough, or simply they would drown. As a child that precipice had been the edge of the world for Helga would never allow him to go near enough to see the vast stretch of sea that had, later, became the edge of the world to Sköll. Almost to his second year birthday and he still didn’t know if the sea truly was the end of the world and for the most part he was accepting of the fact that it was for the Gods to know only. He had chosen to linger for a while on the Sea Lion Shore given that it…in some ways reminded him of home and while he had his eye on the Isle pack that he knew lingered on the small island out to the sea he did not approach them yet simply because he had sacrificed and prayed that Hati and Fenrir would show up and they would decide on a pack to go to together.

So far Sköll had yet to see hide nor hair of either of them.

Some gallant, brave guardian he was, the Tiny Viking thought with a chiding scoff at himself as he moved through the unfamiliar forest in the hopes of catching a familiar glimpse of white and the childish giggles and tittering of the twins. Just as calling Sköll ‘tiny’ was not an exact appropriation — he not tiny in the sense of height but in the fact that he lacked the brawn most other Vikings exhibited, instead favoring his father’s gangly and willowy build, built for speed and stamina rather than the endurance of brute force — neither was considering him cowardly an appropriation. It wasn’t as if the twins had been attacked by a bear and he had fled. They had snuck off in the middle of the night when Sköll had been asleep during Fenrir’s assigned watch. Many scenarios flashed through his mind, each of them growing worse and visually more gruesome and morbid the more he let them go before he gave his head an abrupt shake to dispel the next thought: death.

They were both trained in battle, they were young but Sköll did not think either of Kenna’s youngest to be incapable. Even he, for all his un-Vikingness, was a capable fighter …even though he did not enjoy fighting as most of his ilk did. He had been born to heal, not kill; even though his father swore that both went hand in hand that his knowledge of healing could easily be turned into a discreet art of killing. The line, Sköll understood, was an extremely fine one.

It was as he was walking, following a snaking, thin river that his black, leathery nostrils flared to inhale the scent of another loner. Female, and a quick glimpse up told him he was approaching at a quick pace. The Tiny Viking careened suddenly, surprised that he had been so caught up in his thoughts that he hadn’t realized that he was closing the distance on another. One look at her told her, with a blatant obviousness that was like a crude slap to the face, that it was not Hati — the fur was all wrong and the woman before him was about his own age, maybe older; it was probably too much to ask that she could speak his native tongue which was, horrendously, the only language he could speak and so he decided to avoid it before it bit him in the rear, by hoping to turn away and lope away before he was noticed …if it wasn’t already too late to avoid her detection.