Iona knew it in her bones, as did her beast. They were both on edge and their máni sensed it too.
"What is it, sváss?" Egil propped.
Their lives had gone back to normal after the Blood Eagle was performed and Hall's body was buried in a shallow, unmarked grave. They decided against a pyre, for he did not deserve a proper burial.
The town named a new Jarl from a selected group of warriors. Ten warriors volunteered, and they fought until the other presented an opportunity for a lethal strike. No deaths occured, there had been enough of that.
The ones who won their fights, then fought against each other until there was only one winner. Then, to prevent history from repeating itself, the people voted.
Three bowls, each person with a stone in hand. If anyone was against the new Jarl's naming, they would dip their stone in the first bowl that held ashy liquid in it, and then drop it in the second bowl to vote. If they wanted to vote for the new Jarl, the stone was dropped in to the third bowl.
Only the ones who supported Hall's ways did oppose. They were outnumbered and there he was. Their new Jarl. After, Egil and Iona pulled their warriors back and began their journey back home. Leaving the humans to deal the rest on their own.
"I-I just have this feeling," Iona cautiously whispered. She had been feeling uneasy for days now, and the feeling only grew with each day.
"What do you mean?" Egil was curious, but also worrisome.
Iona turned towards her love, uncertainty filling her baby blues. Exhaling loudly, as if to ease the anxiety rippling within her, she wrapped her arms around Egil's mid section and pressed her ear against his chest. The rapid beating of his heart eased her anxiety even more.
"Something is coming. I know it. I feel it in the air. I do not know what it is, is it a threat or not. But I do know that things will change."
Her voice had turned so small it was barely a whisper, causing her thoughts to sound even more eerie than they already were.
Neither of them had no idea what was yet to come.
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It took but a month for the first change to occure.
There she was, visiting Audon's resting place and imagining what he would have looked like if allowed to live. Would he have had her fiery red hair? Her blue eyes, or all the features of the man she used to call husband? No matter what, she loved her son. He was not there, but he was in her heart and her memories.
The little kicks he made when still nestled in her womb, or the songs she sang to him at nights when Hall would spend eternity feasting, and she would need something to block out the sounds of drunk-filled joy she so despised.
