Barrow Fields that large, the bones no longer

does that bird always sit on you?

raspy voice of the earthbrown clad stranger — of whose flick of red tail does not go unnoticed by acute glacial gaze — draws norseman’s attention which seeks it’s newest target in the disappointing aftermath of deciding these mounds were not funeral mounds but simply nature made. of course, perhaps some more investigating might reveal otherwise but even so the dead deserve their rest. he was a raider, yes; but not a tombraider. graves were sacred and he ( wrongly, perhaps ) assumes that belief transcends culture.

scarfleshed side of his face were a twin glacial eye once sat lifts slightly in magna’s direction, feeling the preen of her beak against the softfur at the junction of his ear. hon er minn auga. unwilling to relent his native tongue in this strangeland he speaks first with it and second with common. this is magna. she is my companion. he traverses the secondary language with well-practiced fluidity; though his words are heavily accented with the natural nuances his native tongue called forth.