Duskfire Glacier and down goes the hatchet on the chopping block 'cus i love you like a mountain

His praise, little and short as it may be, warmed her chest. Took root and spread through her. Pleased that she might do right by someone. She will undoubtedly hold the word close, cherish it like the best kept secret she had. Remember this moment of him bathed in Norðrljós and the softness he showed with her. Ever patient and temporarily released from a title of wardog that he oft brandished.

Reluctant (if only worried she might miss more soft looks upon his face, a soft twitch of lips that is more flattering than aggressive) her gaze traveled after his. It was undeniably beautiful in the heavens. She had thought she might wander for ages and yet the sight has her rooted. Content to stay as long as she knew they might appear to wave in the sky to the wayward duo.

Norðrljós, Gleipnir. She uttered soft and in awe. Your gods...they make them?