Sunset Valley 'til the day that i die

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ᚦ — he watched the hunt with baited breath. to see her prowess in action, the northman feels a chill ripple through the muscle that hangs broad upon his weighted form. tongue swiping his snout; tasting the remnants of his own kill, thinking of what the blood pouring from throat might taste like now.
her kill falls; it is a ritual she has done time and time again. a matured huntress, a shieldmaiden fierce. she makes the blood which thumps in northblood's veins thump strong, stronger. he bellows a congratulatory hoot as he stalks closer again, closing distance she had created.
face torn by an arrogant and knowing smile that reveals teeth yellowed by bloodshed and lack of groom. ég tala, ég tala. words meant to raise arms in a show of peace, or to wave white flag high in the wind that blows now. bringing her scent to him and into nostrils that greedily drink it up.
his eyes betray his thoughts, but he does not seek to hide it. þú ert sterk kona. kona sem skipar. sem óttast ekki. draugr says lowly.
stepping dangerously close to her kill, and by extension, her. ignoring the curl of her lip. the passionate disdain for him in her gaze. menn myndu sjá þig og vilja drepa fyrir mig.
og þú myndir ekki vilja fyrir neitt. kjöt, skinn, börn. ég gef þér allt.