Fox's Glade a poem in which i am neither a monster nor a martyr

Her gaze — Wardruna notes as he ghosts nearer so he might assess her more throughly — is a consuming shade of umbra, a curiosity …and the northerner is struck with the consideration that she may be the goddess of the underworld, the goddess of death and calamity. Or, if not the goddess herself then surely …surely one of her daughters. Immediately, she becomes a treasure to the northerner. He wants her. There is something about the frail ones that continuously draws Wardruna in. Not because he thinks they are weak — on the contrary, he’s found that the ones that appear, physically, the most frail and the ones with the strength of iron and fire of the sun in them; and admittedly he enjoys the challenge that strength of spirit presents, enjoys building them up and shaping them into the fiercest of choosers of the slain.

Wardruna watches as she tucks her tail between her legs and whines in response to his chuff. She’s afraid, he realizes, likely cold, too. Noma is a a bit thicker than her but only because she has been eating now, no longer refusing the food Wardruna brings to her. Even so, his first thrall does not put off an awful lot of body heat. “Ég mun ekki meiða þig” Wardruna croons to her in his native tongue and then translates it for her, “I will not hurt you.” And it is true. He treats Noma well ( even if she would dispute it though its her own stubbornness that draws his ire ); but of course he does not expect his word to mean much. There is little sense of treating thralls terribly in Wardruna’s mind: they serve a purpose after all and if they are starving or abused they are not capable of being useful; and he’s got need of Noma …and of this woman of the underworld. He draws nearer to her cautiously as to not spook her. Wardruna makes his intention known through body language: to press his nose gently to the fur of her neck to better discern if she’s ill or not before he’ll make his next play. He’ll not bring illness to Easthollow and more specifically Noma. If the alabaster woman snaps at him he will draw back: he doesn’t smell any discernible ailment but he wants to make sure, just in case.