Dawnlark Plains I can't hear it now

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ᚦ — draugr did not blink.
he stood as if carved, sandstone eyes locked on the pale-glacier gaze of the king who did not roar. and that was how draugr knew.
this was no idle male, no southern brute.
a smile, then. it is not born of inherent friendliness, but it is not meant to threaten, neither. it is simply that: a smile, born of crooked, yellowed teeth and a gaze that has seen bloodshed and hearth both.
his voice comes, soaked in northern ice and old battle-smoke:
sæll, kappi. a measuring eye that drops from first head to toe, then back up, shoulders swinging in wide berth as he comes to step closer, tail aloft at neutral banner; not weak but not dominant. there would be no need for that here—not on behalf of draugr, that is. he cannot speak for the other.
hefurðu séð fölu norræn kona? þú berð ilm hennar. an unspoken way to say: do not lie to me, battleborn.