Larksong Grotto my pride

---

faust's begging chilled skorpa and perhaps unfairly disgusted him. he would rather die than grovel, or if he must put knee to stone, then for a more worthwhile cause than pleading at the doorstep of someone meant to be enemy in any other life.

"jeg er ikke din bror," skorpa began first, voice heavy with a growing anger. "og du skal ikke kalde noget for småligt, som du ikke kender. faust har gjort ayovi ked af det for mange gange."

they came here, they postured upon this wild land that did not belong to them, and they spoke in half-truths. "du udfordrede ham." skorpa shrugged.  "hvis han var en jarl, ville han også have fundet en måde at skade dig på.

it was the cost of a challenge.

skorpa was sorely tempted, yes. the warrior in him wished to be again on the field of battle in violent clash.

but the soon-to-be father in him did not.

if he was meant for Valhalla, then Valhalla would seek him. he could not avoid such an end if it came.

"du frygter denne svage mand, som ikke ville kæmpe, og du mistede næsten din kvinde til ham," skorpa growled. "så kommer du her og kræver min hjælp, fordi jeg er dansker."

resolute. this bending, going to war while ayovi grew with promise; no. they asked far too much because they were not fathers or husbands with success at protecting their wives. "du har forårsaget dette. løs det selv."

a last, looking to each man in turn. "det, som guderne har sat i gang, kan ikke ændres."

---