Ouroboros Spine ᐊ avvik

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the woman before him isn’t like any he’s met in a long, long while. there’s no softness in her eyes, no room for flattery. she speaks to him coldly, and orders him to a task, and gods, he likes that far too much.

you wound me, red rumbles, blood then, fine.

he moves, broad shoulders bending close to the hide. his teeth catch the corner she’s pointed to, and he pulls until the stretch hums in the air between them. the scent of raw hide, of oil and musk, thickens. he works with a strange care for a beast his size.

once, there was a war. he pauses for dramatic flair. over nothing worth bleeding for, like they all are. that singular, sharp iceberg eye cuts to her. i was hired with shelter and a full belly to fight for a wolf who thought himself a god. well, he was nothing of the sorts. red huffs.

many throats i tore from their bodies. and it was during these battles, i lost my eye. his head lifts, turns, showing to her the gnarled scar and missing socket that leaves that half of his face in ruins. a fat bastard ate it, right in front of me. through sheer luck was i able to gut him.

a jovial laugh as he recounts it. he bled like a stuck pig!

for some time, red grows silent. thinking on that time of his life, so long ago it feels. when he speaks again, it is with a different demeanor. his words lowered to a thoughtful hum. alas, it came to an end. and when it was over, i looked around and realized gods don’t bleed, but kings do. and i did not want to be either.

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