The sound of his mother’s laughter brought a rush of unexplainable warmth to the child. It was a sound he associated with good things, like the warmth of the sunlight (as he was experiencing for the first time now) upon his back, the melodious tunes of the songbirds in the trees above; only to have the moment of warmth shattered, in a startling way when she sneezed at his stirring of the dust. Only to have retribution make it’s way to him when he sneezed in turn. The giggle that burst from the First Born’s lips was high pitched and sudden, causing him to glimpse around quickly to look at Thistle, unsure if he had really made that noise or not. He scowled at her when she denied him passage out into the world, his crestfallen expression abandoned in his frustration. Neinn, neinn, neinn, it was always no. Ein supposed if he wanted the answer to finally be yes he would have to attempt another sneak out. “Nuuuuu,” He drug the word out — his babble version of the word ‘no’ though admittedly it was closer to it’s English variation than Old Norse and plopped his butt down with a huff, pouting as he started at her offending leg barring his path which stretched out, teasingly, before him, taunting him with it’s proximity.
Conquer me, Ein. Come and conquer me, it is your Fate. It seemed to be saying to him, but alas, it would seem since Thistle wasn’t budging, it would not be his Fate today.
