The souls of dead men glean in the air above us, bright as dragon-fire and sharp as the swords they once held.
"It's good to be alive, isn't it?" my brother asks. He's watching the night sky, too, with his deep blue eyes that seem to pierce into everything.
"Aye, though Ty doesn't seem to appreciate it," I respond, gesturing at where our other brother sits a little outside of the hall's warm golden light.
My companion chuckles, and we make our way over to him.
"Normally, you're not only the first into the fight, but also the first to quaff mead afterwards," I hail him.
"How can I be merry when we lost so many men today?" he questions gruffly. His deep voice makes it sound far fiercer than he really means it to.
I take a seat next to him on the grass. "We're alive. Isn't that enough?"
"But those men are not!"
"And you think they'd want you to mope about, mourning their loss?" I throw back. "They'd want you to be inside, celebrating the fact that you lived to see the sunrise tomorrow."
"How can you do that? How can you, Tor? How can any of us celebrate that men are dead?"
Tor finally speaks up, solemn and quiet. "We do not rejoice at their loss."
"Then what is it for?!"
I stand. "Men die in war. You should know that better than most. And so you should know why they celebrate, O Captain of the Einherjar. Or have you lost the spirit that led you to put your hand into the wolf's savage maw?"
Ty draws back slightly and smiles. "I didn't know you had such fire in you, Bale."
I raise my hand, cupping a small fire in it. "Really?"
He laughs, and as we turn to the hall he slides his shield off of his handlers right arm and throws it aside.
