Little Goat Mountain [m] eyetooth

for a long while eivor only lay beside akavir, concentrated upon the gallop of her heart, the slowing of her breath. when at last it seemed she slept, she spoke. "i am from a fjord called brattahlíð. a cold place, of course. my father and mother ruled together. it was not always done this way." she smiled in memory. "my father loved her. but he told me also that had he not agreed to my mother becoming jarlskona, she would have brained him as he slept beside her. the women of my country do not take lightly to disrespect," she said with a laugh.

her eyes found the sky, now warming to dawnlight. "i did not want to follow as leader. i am made for war. so they sent me to wayfare." simple enough. "in my fighting and my travels i became a drengr. jaws for hire and brattahlíð in my heart, wherever i am called."

sleep called, smoothing her down into half-lidded eyes. "and you, akavir? what is the word you said just now and where did you learn it?" for slumber did not quell curiosity.