Stone Circle ᛋᚢᚾᛁᚾᛁᛏᛁᚾ

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The older man speaks in a nordic tongue. Ujurak replies in his native Icelandic, Ég er Ujurak Baldir Loðbrók, fæddur úr Steinhringnum.

The stone prince halts several strides from the man. Draugr. Ujurak did not know of the ninth barrow. He did not recall the name coming from Eivor either. He was dealing with the unknown.

What was know, was the intent of the man before him. It was spoken both in action and in word. Ujurak's head leveled with his chest, guarding the soft skin of his throat. Hackles rise in jagged peaks along his spine. His tail held stiffly behind him.

Kvarsheim was no more. He was no longer responsible for wolves beyond himself. Ujurak faced the northman alone.

A small voice within his mind warned him that the stones belonged to none. That even when he too was nothing but bone beneath the soil, that the stones would still stand tall.

He supposed it was what remained of his father's wisdom. That to spill blood here would be reckless.

The stone prince was not without pride. He would not stand idly by as some stranger strayed into this sacred place. One who would piss upon the graves of his father and grandparents. One who believed he owned them.

Ujurak's lip curled into reply, challenge in his eye.

Þú virðir ekki hina látnu. Steinarnir tilheyra þeim einum.