Stone Circle when the laurel grows heavy on your brow

ᚦ — he listens, sniffs the truth of the words, and finds no stink of deceit upon them. the other’s tongue is clean, well-spoken. he does not yet trust it—but he will not turn it away.

then you are welcome. northman jarl's voice is rough-gravelled, quiet, a little less barbed than before. many come. some bleed. some run. you do neither. this er good.

draugr steps to close distance, the distance enough that his breath might be felt, warm and heavy in the northern chill. your tongue er sharp. you speak like warrior-prince, not raider. come from where? warrior-prince. the kind of sons that his own wife had born once.

draugr’s head tilts, a slow narrowing of the eyes. he turns with thudding footsteps to begin to lead this man, dracarys, further into the territory. he will show him the places. the steinvardr, the steinhaugr. tell him that which led them all. the blood that would be spilled beneath it.