Larksong Grotto Ankärr

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that pain was violent and ceaseless and nauseating. skorpa held vomit behind the rows of yellowed teeth, going to the arched tension of a curved sapling beneath her paws. wide eyes shouted his agony to the heavens and a ragged shout cut him off from the world for a time.

he dreamt. he did not know how long the blackness had lasted, nor how long he had closed his eyes. his belly felt as though it had been stuffed with angry hornets, stabbing, stabbing from the inside.

he watched her in a gaze, not comprehending if he was awake or asleep. she was northern and not. she was built for long distances, a rogue traveling high snowy ridges. not one of his own. not like he and the warrior who had fought so hard for her possession.

skorpa mumbled some snippet of a flyting joke before his head lolled again. despite his great power and horrendous reek, he was nothing in this moment. had she the wish to open his throat with her teeth, now was the second she should seize.

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