there was always so much blood.

from here he could see it, red splashes against the ivory snow. splatters, pools, sprays -- it lay in every pattern, in every direction. littered with pieces and parts, viscera and entrails. vicious and messy and brutal.

scream, always. so many screams. draven cannot pinpoint them, but it does not matter. he won't find the source.

there is never a source.

it is merely the soundtrack to these visions as he swoops and dives, a passenger in flight, through falling snow tinged with RED.

falling snow. snow. snow?

he blinks, hard, and wrenches to life in maelstrom of claws and teeth and snarls. away from the visions, away from the spot on the ground where he rested. his movement startles the flock who lift from the elephant skull, taking brief flight with a cacophony of protest.

they settle when he does, breathing hard, skin beneath his eyes sagging.

nothing new.

and so he sits, determinedly blinking against the endless exhaustion, refusing to give in again. the horizon lightens with day and he greets it reluctantly, no more rested than he had been the day before. or the one before that.

and they all blur together.

She had been passing by the boneyard that day, wondering if someone had added her brother’s bones to this heap. Would she find a lion’s skull here with some fur attached to it, reminding her that Adalwolf once lived in there? She shuddered at the thought, puffing out at her shoulders with discomfort. The only things that distracted her from the shitty truth these days were --

A cacophony of caws caught her attention, making her pause in her tracks. Beyond the bones, she saw something move. Something... fluffy. “Adalvolf?” she called, immediately regretting it. She wouldn’t find him here. Why did she say that? Like she was stupid enough to believe his own wife was mistaken and she’d find him alive in a graveyard. “Sei keine dumme Schlampe, Valaine,” (Don’t be a stupid bitch, Valaine,) she murmured as she looked on further.

But something was alive in there, and for the moment, curiosity might’ve killed the cat - but Valaine was a lioness and she was just as vicious as any man. So, she crept towards the sound of the ragged breathing.

When she breached the vicinity where the lion lay there, breathing, she could sense that something was wrong. Not with the situation, but with him. “You alife?” she asked, kicking a small piece of bone at him.


@Draven

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red thread, twining tight. tighter. too tight too tight tootight. it is a hangman's noose and he is too weak to snap it. too weak to break free.

it pulls at him, tugging him from his snow and ice, dragging him towards the stony peaks. behind him is a trail of blood.

always so much blood.

there is no startle at her voice, no sign at all that he had heard her. instead he stares blankly ahead and were it not for the inconsistent rise and fall of his chest she might think him dead.

but the ravens have not come to pick his bones, and while the vultures circle they do not land.

draven would not die so easily; that is not a freedom easily gifted to a God.

eventually he shifts, lifting a heavy paw and slapping it down up on the bone that she had sent clattering his way. draven scoops it from the ground and studies it, rolling it across his toes as he focused on the gleam of white.

"i wonder,' he rumbles, finally, "how long it takes these bones to whiten. they are not so.... pure... when they are fresh." a peak of teeth as his heavy head swings to face her, a half-arched brow as if he were posing a question for her to answer rather than making an observation.

@Valaine

She asked him whether he was alive, and he had not replied until the bone came skittering towards him. A heavy paw caught it, but still, he didn't answer... not until he toyed around with the small object, letting it roll between his toes and over his paws. Then he posed a question about bones.

And her stomach dropped. Not because of what he said, but because of what the question jogged in her mind. Immediately, she began to think of her brother's bones and whether they were white or brown at this point. She forgot to ask Astarte what she did with the body and whether it still lies there where she found it, or did she bring what she could of him home to the Mire...

Either way, the thoughts left an unsettled feeling in her gut and as she dropped to the ground upon her rump, she felt breathless. It was likely that now he could hear the unsteadiness in her breath, and while she wasn't about to share her troubles with a strange lion, she didn't feel like adding awkwardness to the shitshow she was feeling right now...

"Vhy di't you haf to ask zhat of all zhinks?" she asked, though she did not drag her gaze from the dirt ground before her. She was trying to steady her breathing so she could continue on, continue on and pretend like nothing was bothering her.

@Draven

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draven does not think that his words would have an impact. they are not strange to him; they are not disturbing. an observation, he'd say. an observation, he would defend.

"you are bothered by bones?' her accent is as intriguing as her reaction; for all that she might wish to hide it he is the eye after all. his question carries the surprise he feels, along with a well hidden interest in pressing deeper in to this tender spot. the woman is a stranger but he imagines there is a story behind her reaction, one that he is morbidly interested in learning.

ever the wraith he shifts forward, closer. "we all have them, after all." seems silly to be so easily ruffled.

@Valaine

She starts to think about the Sigrun Jarl who killed him, and her unsteady breathing turns to rage - slowly. Simmering, evolving to a boil. As her breath steadies, her brows scrunch together and her blue eyes stare like daggers to the floor.

Then he asks his question, unaware of what caused this onset of panic. She shouldn't have felt this strongly about Adalwolf, but he was a visionary in many ways. He gave her strength when she felt weak; he gave her some purpose here. And if a figure as strong as Adalwolf could be removed from these lands, what made them think that they could win this war?

"Ja," she confirmed his second comment because she wasn't sure how to answer the first. He was fishing for an answer... He wouldn't have asked if he didn't want to know. And she didn't want to tell him... anything.

But she'd have to answer him with something, else walk away and she didn't know if she was sturdy enough to simply get up and leave yet.

"It is not zee bones, but zee memories zhey pro'foke," she sighed, raising her blue eyes to meet his silver ones. She was tight-lipped on this information because it made her look weak, feel weak.

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there is anger to follow the distress; this is his siren song. even more than the hints of pain (though he is eager to see them again, too) he is pulled like the moth to flame when he sees the sparks from her blue eyes. suddenly he wants to feed those coals and watch them grow -- he wants to draw her to his side and unleash her fury on the world.

and then watch it burn, burn, burn.

@Valaine gives reasons without giving anything and he tempers his frustration, donning the ohsocharming mask of the bjorn. it shines through the exhaustion as the god tastes possibility again.

"ah, yes, i have those memories, too." not hers, of course. nor does he elaborate that the bones that flash behind his eyes are the ones that he, himself, had broken. the ones that he had ripped from flesh and cracked between his teeth, accompanied always with that beautiful cacophony of agony

there is the faintest tip of his head, the slighest glimmer of curiosity when he asks -- "what are you going to do about it?"

“Return zee fa’for,” she answered, though because she hadn’t actually offered any information on what was swirling around in her mind, perhaps he’d have no idea what the favor was... and why it needed to be returned. An anger and a fire burned bright behind her blue hues, and as her brows furrowed automatically, she cast her gaze aside, away from the stranger. “A life for a life.”

And that was where it grew tricky. Valaine, a woman who was not easily recognized for her cunning, her thirst for violence, or her need for vengeance - by her family. Had she thrown herself into the fray and challenged that Sigrun bastard herself, would she go down in history even if she lost?

She feared she’d be discarded like trash, and so, that kept her from putting her own neck on the line.

But she had ideas of talking up the new family Jarl and encouraging him to go after the Sigrun’s Jarl...

@Draven

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draven didn't expect the answer she ended up giving. though he had been surprised before she did not strike him as the type -- and so he is not quick enough to entirely mask the delight that captures his features when she speaks of death.

nor is he prepared enough to slow his tongue, to stop himself from offering up his own teeth and claws. "i could help you with that." ah but there still is the hint of danger in his voice, the implication that he was more than capable of rending flesh from bones and that he might just find some enjoyment in doing so.

bjorn whispers in his ear and he adds, as if to soften his offer and make it seem more genuine -- "i am very good at finding things."

never mind the murmur in his mind that calls him a liar, reminding him that there were so many he had not found.

@Valaine

Valaine isn't surprised to hear the male offer up his own teeth and claws for her needs. Men would offer anything to pretty girls, and this was what Valaine assumed drove the man. She allowed a grin to ease upon her lips, finding she could not keep it from appearing anyhow. A stranger offering to kill for her? That was... quite ideal. Though, of course, she would not hold her breath. And if he did manage? She would, of course, owe him... somehow.

"Ja?" she asked, disbelieving. "If you can find zee Sigrun jarl und kill him, I vill owe you." She didn't elaborate on her boundaries or her terms because she doubted his ability to carry out the task at all. Still, she'd test his boundaries. "He is all black, big. I zink he lifs vis someone in zee Brook." At least, he seemed to frequent the Brook a lot when it was run by the Sigrun princess.

"Finde me vhen it is done. Not here. By zee mire. Meine name ist Valaine Rike." And with that, she'd leave him to do as he offered, wondering just how efficient this strange lion could be.

She left him with less than a goodbye, nodding to him before she turned and left. /exit

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