Duskfire Glacier i'm cauterizing the veins you lacerate

— the man softens entirely with the brush of her at his side. a rumble in his throat, one of the deepest affections for gjalla, while his forehead bumps lovingly into the ridge of her jaw. head rubbing gently into her cheek, fixing himself into her side.

yes, travelers. the man, sega, is a cousin of skorpa's woman. his mate is called svana. i have invited them to hunt and eat with us. he says to gjalla's ear.

and then the crow's ears twitch, but it is not sega’s roughened voice that seizes him. it is svana's. the small woman tucked pliantly, who he had thought was voiceless.

yet now with the arrival of blackfell's wife, she mutters his own bloodsong!

yes. blackfell looks to svana, gjalla is the strength of frost made flesh. he rumbles with the press of a nosed-kiss to gjalla's ear, and the softening of a fool's smile. even now, when his shield should be high and his axe ready to be wielded in case of treachery, he cannot help but to decorate her in his fondness. blackfell bears no shame in his love for his wife.

but his attention is soon drawn elsewhere, back to the joining of them. those red eyes fixed upon svana regarding her with a new recognition. you speak our tongue.

other language denoted by italics because i forgot the translate code jidifjgijg