Raven's Watch [m] α

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a lie did not care who told it. clumsiness was the veil of a man who beat those weaker, or so skorpa believed. at least when he struck a wench he did not need to make some farce of it. to think that this stranger too had invoked their gods did not sit well with the ragged exile.

but his words had found their mark, and his bloody teeth hewn into another grin. he fell back in ambling steps, not turning his spine for teeth but pressing into the space beside the woman, so close that the tips of dirty pelt-hairs brushed her own.

proud was the big drengr, yet if he truly wanted to fight for an injured wraith he would have already tried to strike the mockery from skorpa's filthied face. words changed; comprehension fell away, and he glanced with peripherals at whatever part of her leg or paws he could see. "gjorde han det her?" the exile asked, though his towering body meant to blot half the she-wolf from the stranger. she surely did not understand him and he surely did not care.

skorpa had no desire to keep a thrall who would only be trouble. she was fed goats'-milk; the stranger indeed meant to put fat onto her thin frame. to support what? but this too was known; a half dozen bastards had been thrown by the slaves of his father before he himself had been born. 

as the man spoke harshly to what had just been his property, the redstained mouth remained stretched in humour. he could trade her for that goat and its milk; he lifted his chin, making a show of inhaling a far more delicate scent than his own, his burntbranch eyes taunting them both. the stranger left this choice to a woman and she had only two from which to choose. was he so assured to be chosen again when it was from him that regnvand had fled at all?

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