‎⠀

⠀⠀⠀    his mind drifted back to their earlier argument. he had only meant to ask because of the burden placed upon him by her deceased husband, to learn whether she understood the lengths her husband had gone to in striking his bargain. it had been a costly agreement, one paid for in silence and blood, charging him with her protection, with the safety of her children, and with the keeping of their secrecy. such discretion was expected of men like him, even from their own blood. still, if there was one thing he understood now, it was that he would have done the same had he stood in the reaper’s place.      hence why he had asked the woman if she had been bound. it had been no accusation, only preparation. a worst case weighed against a kingdom in collapse, a dead king, and a country rotting from plague and fear. duty had taught him to assume the cruel outcome first, even when his heart resisted it.

⠀⠀⠀    the black death had stripped the countryside bare, leaving fields unploughed, hearths cold, and doors unbarred to silence.      håkon tied the reins of the horse to an ash tree near the cottage, its roots splitting old field stones. he spent the next three hours going to and fro, moving with the efficiency of a man used to war and scarcity. he checked the outbuildings, cleared rot from the hearth, and fetched water from a nearby burn. what food he had was simple but precious.               half the day had passed when he finally returned at nightfall with several key items gathered from what little trade still survived. there was salted meat wrapped in linen, cured for travel as was custom, hard as oak but sustaining. oat bannocks wrapped in cloth. a small skin of ale. a fresh set of woollen clothes, coarse but clean, and a pouch of dried herbs for fever and wounds, yarrow and garlic among them.
            
            ⠀⠀⠀    the old house felt warmer upon his return, the fire still burning hot in the hearth, peat and kindling glowing red beneath ash. he paused at the threshold, slipping a glance around for the woman. for a moment, he listened, honing in on the forest beyond the walls. wind through pine. the distant cry of a bird settling for night. when his senses stretched too far, håkon snapped out of the haze upon catching the sound of her breathing. the steady rhythm of a heartbeat. her scent, faint but familiar, carried on smoke and wool.

⠀⠀⠀   håkon pulled the reins at once with a tight grip. the horse shifted beneath him, leather creaking, iron rings chiming softly as it responded to his tug. tension lingered between them, thick as peat smoke, curling low across the distant moorland they had crossed for three days straight. the road behind them was little more than packed earth and stone, churned by hooves and carts long gone.      they had ridden through the night with little rest, stopping only to water the horse at burns and shallow streams. exhaustion weighed heavy in his bones, a dull ache beneath mail and wool, yet he knew they were all equally as famished. hunger was a quiet enemy, one learned to ignore until it hollowed the gut.
            
            ⠀⠀⠀   he reached for the woman after her answer, still not at ease.         he knew she’d struggle. with the strength of ten men, he was not surprised she was a fighter, nor that grief had sharpened her edge. but he had not been sent to hold her prisoner, nor to be her cage. håkon set her down, not missing the strain beneath her eyes, nor the tears she thought she could hide beneath stubborn silence. despite all the fire she carried, he noted it plainly as he dropped his hands at once, registering the warmth of her body, and how frail she had become in merely a two weeks’ journey. too little food. too much fear. grief eating faster than time ever could.       turning on his heel, he did not beckon her to follow. giving space was the only mercy he could allow himself. sometimes distance eased tension better than words. the warrior led the way toward the old house overlooking the land. it sat at the crown of a low hill, half-hidden by gorse and wind-bent hawthorn, its stone walls darkened by rain and age. a croft, once lived in by a tenant family, with a byre attached and a roof of sod and timber. the walls were thick, dry-laid stone, still firm despite the sagging thatch. it had been abandoned recently, like so many others.

⠀⠀⠀    ⠀ “you ask if i walked here. no. i rode. and clearly i’m the only one with any sense this morning.” his gaze flicked to her, dark and lingering.          “fondness for horses, is it? apples and gentle eyes and cleverness.. you speak of them the same way you spoke of me last night.” he let that sit between them, thick as the fog.      then, with a sharper quiet, he stepped past her and began leading the horse away.
            
            ⠀⠀⠀ ⠀ “well, at the moment, i’m not as fond as i should be when my wife directs all that affection toward another male who kept her company while she left her husband alone in bed.” the words were smooth, edged, unmistakably jealous in that controlled, masculine way that only made his shoulders seem broader.        it took everything in him not to turn around and drag her back into his arms.
            
            ⠀⠀⠀    ⠀ but he spoke over his shoulder, giving her a slow, begrudging look.        “come along. breakfast is ready. i can’t have my wife starving. and if i send you back to your father unfed, i might become a widower after a single day of marriage.” the fog curled around him as he walked, but he didn’t look away from her for long.

⠀⠀⠀    ⠀ the reaper came to a slow halt. the early morning fog had swallowed the forest whole, a thick curtain of white that blurred the path and clung to his skin like cold breath. it made the trail hell to move through, but he knew her. even through a world drowned in mist, he could find her. some called it obsession. he knew better. devotion was the only word that ever fit.         his horse released a short huff, and rurik brushed a steady hand over the creature’s neck, grounding himself before he stepped toward her. distance was a thing he had never tolerated between them. his right hand lifted, knuckles brushing along her cheekbone, tracing the sharp line of her jaw before sliding to the warm nape of her neck.
            
            ⠀⠀⠀    ⠀ a low sound broke from him, half swallowed by the fog. the rush that went through him at the simple act of touching grier had him tightening his grip. there it was again⎯⎯that electric pull that threatened to drag him under every time. he hauled her closer, jaw clenching as desire cracked through him like lightning.       [Fuck.]    it took every shred of control not to take her right there against the saddle, not after the way she had begged for him last night.. only to leave him alone in the morning.           “right.” the word hissed from him as he dipped his head, fighting the urge to kiss every inch of her until she forgot the world existed. instead he released her slowly, stepping back an inch that felt like a mile.
            
            ⠀⠀⠀    ⠀ “i am offended.” his tone was flat, masculine, calculatingly unimpressed. he turned to the horse she had been riding, patting the beast once, steady and firm. the faint twitch at the corner of his mouth betrayed him, a crack in his restraint. prying the reins from her relaxed grip, he tied them so they wouldn’t drag, his movements precise and skilled from years of handling far less forgiving animals.

‘ you  frightened  me, ’  said  grier,  tucking  a  loose  strand  of  hair  behind  her  ear.  ‘ i  did  not  expect  you  to  be  an  early  riser.  did  you  walk  here? ’   her  gaze  flicked  to  the forest around them,  a  barely  perceptible  frown  settling  in  her  eyes as  she  considered  the  misty  trails.   ‘ he  seemed  the  only  one  willing  to  ride  with  me, ’  she  continued,  her  tone  light  yet  measured.  ‘ the  others…  i  cannot  tell  if  this  horse  is  difficult,  or  if  perhaps  they  were. ’  she  patted  the  horse  gently,  the  animal  nudging  her  palm  in  quiet  agreement,  before  turning  her  attention  once  more.
            
            ‘ please,  do  not  be  offended, ’  she  added,  voice  softening.  ‘ i  could  not  help  myself.  you  are…  a  person  of  remarkable  skill.  i  had  not  expected your fondness  for  horses,  and  yet,  here  you  are.  it  is  difficult  to  say  no  to  these  creatures,  their  gentle  eyes,  their  cleverness…  and  their  insatiable  love  for  apples. ’  the  mist  swirled  around  her,  thick  and  damp,  carrying  the  scent  of  wet  grass  and  the  faint  tang  of  morning  frost.  even  the  birds  remained  silent,  as  if  honoring  the  quiet,  reflective  moment  she  shared  with  the  hill,  the  horse,  and  the  mist  laden dawn.

&.     saddest part of my story bout to hit theatres, sheesh. 

&.      one reply has me already exhausted ☠️

&.       i’m passing out now, lol. 

DR.[GRIER]
                       ⠀⌁
            
            ⠀⠀⠀&   PRIESTESS  -  PHYSICIAN,
            ⠀⠀⠀⠀[ known ]   ⌁⠀⠀    ݁   for  her
            ⠀⠀⠀power  balance  between  the
            ⠀the  physical  &  the  supernatural.