Dawnlark Plains I can't hear it now

faust watched the jarl with eyes like splintered ice—steady, unreadable, but filled with a quiet, rising respect. the way draugr moved, spoke, prowled like war in the flesh. it was not bluster. it was not empty bravado. he was the kind of man faust could welcome in his longhouse and on his field both.
when draugr gave his nod, faust dipped his own broad head in return. a gesture old as the snow beneath their paws. northman to northman. steel to steel.
i will rejoice if blood is shed, came the kaan’s voice low and carved from stone.
come when prize is won. women are drying meats.
a glint of dry humor in his words, but the meaning was true. hospitality would not be denied to one who honored strength.
he watched draugr disappear into the white, wind tugging at the shadow of him. and then faust turned back toward the glacier, a faint curl at the edge of his mouth.
darukaal would be waiting.