Honeyed Pasture ◊

geirmundr moved like water through stone—slow, cold, inevitable.
he said nothing at first, only watched the way her gait shifted, the sudden rush in her stride. the flicker in her limbs betrayed her fear more than her eyes ever could. she was running.
from him?
he blinked once, expression unreadable beneath the rough lines of his face, the ancient stillness of his breath. his steps angled left, a quiet deviation, then again—until her path was no longer hers alone.
the woman was small, dark as night, and full of noise.
his shadow slipped into her way like a curtain drawn sudden. no snarl. no flash of teeth. only voice, deep and guttural, rolling out like old rock breaking loose from the cliffside.
hví skriker du so høyt?
his head tilted slightly, blood-dark eyes steady. he did not lunge. did not loom. but the earth between them felt held.