Stone Circle ᛊᛁᛞᛁᛏᛁᚱ

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ᚦ — denial.
eyes that had been emotionless once now flash with a growing... something. the emotion can not yet be pinned, in the calamity that is his mind. a ticking, a calculating. it is surefire.
go. he repeats, teeth clicking as they dance forward with a suddenness and seek to nip at the fur that decorates the plumes of cheek and neck. a man who is not gentle; the northman is rough in any certainty that exists, and this young woman is no exception.
driving her back like a bull with horns pointed, overpowering, muscles rolling with an ease beneath a coat of crimson and dark shade. warhall only fyrir strong. grumbling like a groaning tree that breaks at the shaft and is soon to be felled upon harsh ground.
she asks his name. a snarl blossoms in the gurgled throat of the wight now, but his voice resonates deep in the cage of clenching and gnashing teeth that carry warning. drøugr of the ninth barrow. jarl hér.