Stone Circle the devil in hell’s kitchen

Jealousy is not something that Wardruna is accustomed to feeling and thus he isn’t able to correctly correlate with word with the feeling. It burns and seethes and boils like hot magma in his veins and it tastes like acid upon his tongue: harsh, chemical and bitter. All he knows is he doesn’t want Mur to hang around Noma. He doesn’t want her to feed her or do anything that he — Wardruna’s meant to do for her. She’s his thrall …his woman. The northerner doesn’t feel the relief that he’s meant to feel when Mur gets the hit and leaves them be and the northerner watches the other male leave a bloodied gaze that could set an inferno on the entire forest if it were capable of such things. He’s unhappy that it wasn’t him to bring Noma the hen and he chokes on his piece of frozen meat, hacking it back up. Immediately disgusted: with the meat, with himself and with the roil of his stomach he suddenly has a disinterest in eating. He lets the meat out though he knows he won’t return to it and by the next morning it would be gone: taken by some scavenger or other. He’s in too brooding of a mood to care. He moves towards their den, needing more than anything to untangle and attempt to understand the complicated mess of things he’s feeling; he’s not meant to feel this jealous and anxious and inferior and clearly there is something deeper at work than just the possession over his thrall. Wardruna doesn’t really want to look too closely: he’s been contented to be ignorant, to keep that veil closed …up until now, evidently. He brushes past her as he enters the den, turning an ignoring eye to her meal and does not beckon her inside. He knows she will return to the den for warmth when she’s finished and for the moment it’s a lot less complicated when she’s not in his direct view to continue brood and try to find the root of the crux.

346 words