Fated - [Bjorn Ironside]

~6~

She breathed in.

The twine that tore into her fingers, the creaking wood that melded in her palm, and the feather that brushed her cheek like a kiss. Soon that same kiss fled, shooting into the forest before her. The loud silence that fell upon her was broken by the sound of a low bellow, followed by the rustling of leaves and hoofbeats.

Ragnar whistled. "Impressive. I thought you never held a bow?"

He took her into these woods for multiple reasons, which one could expect of his cunning ways. He wanted to see her strength—but he also wanted to speak with her, where no prying ears might be found.

Eldyn frowned as she felt the presence of the stag quickly vanish. It wouldn't be difficult to track, for it had been wounded, but Eldyn was more disappointed that her shot left it in pain. Her father always told her—in her short time she hunted with him as a babe—to never let something suffer if the end goal is to take its life.

It was one of the many ways that her people differed from the men of the north. Unneeded cruelty was saved for particular occasions—but here, it almost seemed commonplace.

"I did not, but I watched my father many times," Eldyn replied, looking down at her fingers that were already beginning to burn and welt. It was true, the softness of her hands and the soreness of her skin attested to it.

The man chuckled as he crinkled his brow in amusement. "If you are that good only from watching, I wonder how you'll be when you train."

"Train?" Eldyn asked, watching him as he walked past her. What did he mean by that?

He hummed. "I knew you were strong when I first laid eyes on you—for I highly doubt that anybody who could stand the wrath of my brother and not shake lacks strength."

She rolled her eyes. She remembered the first encounter with the burly man. She had not seen him very often since, and she preferred it that way.

"You are making little sense," Eldyn responded, a lilt of annoyance fluttering her tone.

Then again, when did he ever?

It was days after recovering from her illness, and in those days, she wondered what the man was planning. She knew he searched for revenge, for Heraldson's demise, but yet there was something else that she sensed that she could not place. For when her eyes befell him, his visage gave way to an expression of pondering, of scheming, but more of an elaborate plan than of a straight forward map to carnage.

"Did Bjorn treat you well?" Ragnar called from ahead.

The man was like a giant in the forest—pushing through shrubbery, breaking twigs, snapping sticks and shaking leaves. Eldyn cringed at his noise, for her people moved through the forest like shadows—silence was their remembrance.

The shadow of the Woltinmund.

Eldyn huffed as she trudged behind him. "He was kind enough to keep me company during my illness. Why do you ask?"