Saga
Jan 31, 2021 22:44:00 GMT
Post by Red Irish Dragon on Jan 31, 2021 22:44:00 GMT
If Fell had asked by the time the Celt was done tending to his injuries if he had missed the Viking or not, he’d have likely not liked the irritated answer. It was hard enough trying to mix the herbs correctly, not as confident in his skill as Ruald was, but with the constant distractions it was nigh impossible, taking far longer to complete than it should have. Even those cheeky grins were distracting and frustrating, Arlan knowing by the end of it that any idea he might have ever entertained of seducing Fell were ridiculous. One, he’d never last long enough in the game before getting flustered and angry. Two…
Two… apparently he didn’t need to try.
It had been a while since Fellbjorn had returned from the raid injured, and he seemed to do well. At least, his injuries seemed to be healing fine… Arlan hadn’t been entirely convinced of his own handiwork until things began improving, but even he couldn’t help but notice the changes in the Viking in turn. While Arlan had started to avoid being around people, preferring horses over most anyone, Fell seemed to welcome it more than ever, ending up in more brawls than usual. Not that he ever sustained the same injuries, but occasionally there was a bruise on his chin, a split lip…
When Fell suddenly burst into their longhouse, Arlan had been working on something innocent enough, something that might have warmed the Viking’s heart to see. But he quickly hid the items even as the chicken took Fell’s attention momentarily, trying to look as if he’d just looked up at the slamming door.
Arlan’s eyebrows shot up at the announcement, not looking overly impressed, unsure of the grand announcement. Fell was given to bursts of energy lately, and he didn’t feel like encouraging them was a great idea. “Hopefully with more tact than that,” was how he replied, not quite amused, nodding towards the chicken that the man spooked out of a number of feathers.
Two… apparently he didn’t need to try.
It had been a while since Fellbjorn had returned from the raid injured, and he seemed to do well. At least, his injuries seemed to be healing fine… Arlan hadn’t been entirely convinced of his own handiwork until things began improving, but even he couldn’t help but notice the changes in the Viking in turn. While Arlan had started to avoid being around people, preferring horses over most anyone, Fell seemed to welcome it more than ever, ending up in more brawls than usual. Not that he ever sustained the same injuries, but occasionally there was a bruise on his chin, a split lip…
When Fell suddenly burst into their longhouse, Arlan had been working on something innocent enough, something that might have warmed the Viking’s heart to see. But he quickly hid the items even as the chicken took Fell’s attention momentarily, trying to look as if he’d just looked up at the slamming door.
Arlan’s eyebrows shot up at the announcement, not looking overly impressed, unsure of the grand announcement. Fell was given to bursts of energy lately, and he didn’t feel like encouraging them was a great idea. “Hopefully with more tact than that,” was how he replied, not quite amused, nodding towards the chicken that the man spooked out of a number of feathers.