Petulant ✔︎

7

It didn't surprise Gorm that Gunnar was better with a bow than a sword. After all, he was spending many years up in the mountains. It seemed to run in the family. Irvina was also better with a knife than a sword. But what surprised him was how quiet Gunnar could be. Gorm knew him as the whiny prince, who was vocal. So when they began to track the deer and Gunnar barely made any sound, it was a surprise.

He was calm and light on his feet. Nothing as Gorm thought he knew him as. Gorm followed after him, covered in furs since it was still cold with a bow in hand and arrows on his back. The prince before him was also covered in furs, his bow over his back. Their steps made marks near the tracks from the deer. They were keeping their distance.

Gorm let out a humph as the hand pushed him back. He looked down at the slender fingers on his chest holding him in place. Then he picked up his head. He quirked a brow in Gunnar's direction. The prince only tilted his head and gave him a pointed look. He shushed him with a finger to his lips. And Gorm felt hostage to his heated gaze. Gunnar gestured with his head and then crouched low. Gorm watched as his behind stretched his woolen pants. He drew in a ragged breath at the defined backside. It was even worse since Gorm knew what was under those pants, those plump globes. His eyes snapped up before he could push the man before him flat to the snow. Gorm wanted to devour him.

Gorm's eyes found the deer, and his eyes widened. Now he understood why Gunnar crouched. So he followed suit, his knee pressing into Gunnar's hip. Gunnar threw him a glare, but his hand was reaching for his bow. He was quiet as his fingers pulled out an arrow. His fingers lightly pulled the string, and Gorm watched fascinated as he fired.

The arrow sailed through the air smoothly, and then with precision, hit the deer behind the crease of its shoulder. Gorm's breath hitched. Straight to its livers. The deer jerked, and since it took a few hours for deers to die from this shot, Gunnar pulled out another arrow. It hit its target again with a fatal blow, delivering a swift death.

"You want to take the honor to skin it?" Gorm scoffed at the question. The part of animal hunting he did not enjoy, but he still nodded. Maybe when he decided to return, Gorm's lenience will be what will convince the prince to also return.

Gunnar continued talking, "We'll hang it outside the hut for a while before we gut it." Gorm once again nodded, easily letting the man take command. The walk to the cabin was slow, each one of them carrying each leg. Every once in a while, Gorm would catch the prince eyeing him. He would open his mouth, as if on a verge of asking a question, before closing it again.

"Is Halfdan nice?" Gorm raised a brow at Gunnar's back at the question. So he finally opened his mouth. Was he trying to fill the silence, or was that concern he heard? Gorm wasn't sure.

He also didn't want to lie, "To Irvina he is." Gorm watched the man before him shake his head. His dirty blonde hair was tied in a knot. Small braids were sticking out at the sides of his scalp. He wanted to gather those braids in his hands and tug them.

"What a great answer, are you sure you deserve to be her protector." Gorm rolled his eyes, barely offended by the answer. He wanted to throw the deer on the ground pettily and leave the man to carry it himself, but he didn't. That would make him as childish as Gunnar. Instead, he took a deep breath.

He glared at the man's back, "You don't know your sister as I do." Gunnar didn't answer, but deep down, Gorm knew these words hurt him no matter how carefree he appeared. And Gorm also knew he was right.