The Tangle you cannot swallow a life

shadowkissed northman trudges thru the unpleasant territory; a minefield of rocks, spiny shrubbery that catches on the wispier fur at his belly, and sharp drops cloaked by hardy grasses that he spends too much time trying to avoid lest he step wrong and break his leg. the warped witchtrees remind him of home, however; and soothe the worst of the unease that this cursed place sparks. magna, he commands softly of the albino raven nested in the thick fur at his scruff, her weight settling always comfortably between the junction of his shoulders. she runs her beak thru the windswept and saltsmeared fur there. she takes flight with a ruffle of snowkissed feathers leaving synin behind as she rises above the treeline in search of a way out the labyrinth for the morning.

would it have been a labyrinth of stone, snow and ice like the many fjords of his home, or the peak in which the rífaspira settled synin would’ve navigated it with a practiced ease despite the foreignness of this land. in the tangle’s heart he settles as hati begins her chase of the moon. during the light of day it is treacherous, in the shadows of night synin would for sure end up a corpse for the ravens to feast upon.

he scratches at a bed of soft moss, thinking it would suffice in lieu of an actual sleeping place when magna returns, but ten minutes later. in her beak is a limp mouse. synin watches her for a moment as she gulps it down a soft snort of affection given for the corvid. dveljask kærr, magna. synin warns in his native tongue. sási skipa halda háski.