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Post by Red Irish Dragon on Jan 25, 2021 4:45:49 GMT
It hadn’t taken long for Ulfsune to decide that he was done with hunting. There was grumbling among his men for the sudden change of heart, not even an hour’s worth of effort in, but the warlord had seen something that put him off his usual pleasure in the hunt. No one dared to ask him what. Only Magnus had any idea of what that might have been.
His men were quiet as they complained, careful to avoid perking the Red Wolf’s ears, even as Magnus’s jaw stiffened. Ulfsune didn’t seem to care, focused more on getting back to camp. He wasn’t used to the uneasy feeling in the pit of his stomach, but somehow the shadow had been closer that day, but flickering, as if straining, able to sense that it was closer to when it could strike. Ulfsune had no intention of using his new weapon again, so he had left to try to outpace the feeling it left him with.
Most would be able to identify it as being unnerved. Ulfsune didn’t have enough experience with it to know.
As they approached the campsite, he hadn’t been focused on the sound of something crashing through the undergrowth, his mind elsewhere as it so often was. So it was possible for the small figure to suddenly run straight into him, instinct catching her more than a desire to keep her from falling.
When their eyes met, however, Ulfsune found himself pausing. A look he was not familiar with suddenly raced over her features, and it was a look that perhaps influenced his next move as Knut came racing out after her, skidding to a halt before the warlord.
She had looked relieved to see him.
“My lord,” Knut began, breathless, blood dripping from his nose and face, even as the skin began to purple from the impact. He was obviously scared to see the warlord there, knowing what orders had been placed… and what the punishment was for disobeying. “S-she ran,” he lied, pointing to her with all of the blame. “I tried to stop her, to keep her safe for you…”
Knut’s words trailed off as Ulfsune looked back down at the woman, one hand gently lifting her chin to confirm. Her neck showed signs of distress, his gaze darkening as he recognized the pattern. Magnus hesitated as Ulfsune pushed her towards him instead, clearing his path to Knut. His voice was void of its usual humor, dark… and rough.
“I said that no one was to go into the tent,” he began, Knut immediately arguing back. “Of course, Earl, but she ran-“
“Why would she run unless someone went into the tent?”
Knut paled, beginning to see the cycle he was in. The other warriors stilled, certain that Ulfsune would laugh it off… and growing ever more nervous the longer it took him to.
“Why would she have marks on her neck if I didn’t leave them?” Ulfsune continued, his slow pace forward quickly being matched by Knut’s shuffle back, hands rising defensively. “I would never disobey you,” Knut argued, knowing he was without a weapon, and that Ulfsune didn’t need one. Finally, he sent a pleading look to his fellow warriors - a mistake, as in the same instant Ulfsune’s hand had him by the throat, dragging him back and to his toes.
“No. One. Touches. Her,” Ulfsune growled, the otherwise unspoken but clearly understood order spoken with deadly anger. Knut only gurgled in response, his throat being squeezed by the powerful hand, which knew exactly where to grab from sheer experience. He stayed that way for almost a minute, and when the warlord finally tired of holding Knut, the ease of the snap showed that the time had been prolonged on purpose.
As Ulfsune turned to the group, they all took an unhappy shift back. Even his loyal warrior Magnus shifted away from the woman, shocked that Ulfsune had been willing to kill over someone he was very likely to kill himself. Or perhaps, more accurately, that he had been so willing to kill so openly, rather than extracting revenge later. It was as if Knut simply disgusted him too much to let him live.
Ulfsune stepped towards the woman, an arm coming out to draw her in close again before walking on. This was as much a show to his men as he walked back into the camp as anything else, the trailing hunters subdued at how one of their own had been taken out…
And over who.
Leaving the warning to be shared by the men themselves, he took the woman back into the tent, but he didn’t force her in beyond the initial flaps. Instead, his arm left her shoulders as he moved to the table, filling the cup yet again with mead. Knut had picked the wrong time to piss Ulfsune off, the edge to him different from his usual dance with sanity, sitting down in a chair without a hint of amusement, his gaze dark since the woman had run into him. But he didn’t watch her, didn’t make any indication that he expected gratitude to be shown in any shape or form.
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Post by Kelathi on Jan 25, 2021 23:21:02 GMT
Needless to say, Annika had better sense than to pull away from the warlord as he drew her in close again, and she was for once, grateful for his presence. That was not to say that she was pleased to be escorted back to the tent, but if nothing else it gave her the illusion of protection, although she had just seen that it was just that- an illusion.
As Ulfsune left her side to yet again accost the mead, she was unsure what to do. This was the first time she’d seen him so furious, his gaze impossibly dark, the very air around him seeming to bubble with tension. She was afraid that if she did something wrong, he would snap, taking it out on her. She was not so naïve to think he had helped her out of the goodness of his heart, nor from some uncharacteristic chivalry. It was clear to her that his anger lay in the fact that his orders had not been followed, that his prize, that he had so proudly paraded around the men, had indeed been touched against his wishes. She found herself thankful that he had chosen to believe her, to believe that she had not run unprovoked, despite what the other man had claimed. Otherwise, things might have turned out differently.
A hand came up to ghost over the bruises on her neck as she thought about how the man’s had snapped, that sickly sound that she was sure would haunt her for many days after. She’d seen death before, but it was not something she thought she’d ever get used to, nor did she want to. In contrast, it seemed so easy for Ulfsune, having discarded the man as if he were an object, not a person. That’s what they all were to him, she realised- toys, playthings, to serve to amuse him but cast away when finished. She was one such plaything, and as it stood, it seemed he had decided to dispose of her tonight.
She stepped further into the tent, again, stepping lightly, trying to fade into the background. Thoughtfully, she paused before the abandoned axe, the very same that she had used against her attacker only moments before. Some good it had done her, she thought grimly. She picked it up, and placed it carefully back in it’s holder, thinking that anything out of place might only serve to infuriate Ulfsune further, stoking his anger. Then she approached the table.
Now was possibly the worst time for her to speak to the man, but it might be her last chance before evening. Who knew how Ulfsune would choose to spend the rest of his day? She was nervous, which was understandable, but she pulled herself together, standing a few paces from him, one hand on the table, as if for support.
“I have a way of being useful to you.” She spoke bluntly, catching his attention, resisting the urge to shrink away from his dangerous gaze.
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Post by Red Irish Dragon on Jan 29, 2021 2:18:32 GMT
If Ulfsune noticed her efforts, he made no indication of it, lost in deep thought. How much of an omen had the shadow figure been, straining to reach him? Was this to be the first piece of kindling to his own pyre, then?
The woman’s words cut through his wandering thoughts, lifting his dark gaze from where it was focused on the far side of the tent back up to her. His expression was difficult to read, the usual air of amusement and malice replaced with a brooding silence. Perhaps not more dangerous than his usual attitude, but a marked difference in tone.
Slowly, he lifted his head a little, leaning further back into his chair as he took her in. Now there was the start of that familiar wolfish smirk, an almost tired approach. “And what would that be?” he asked, sounding very certain that there was nothing she could offer him.
Of all the emotions he had shown so far, it was this lack of emotion in his words, his voice, that was the most dangerous of all.
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Post by Kelathi on Jan 29, 2021 2:30:07 GMT
The calm way in which Ulfsune responded did not ease her tension, but she still met his gaze levelly, even as he seemed to devour her with his.
“I can tell you about death.” Her words were spoken without a tremor, a self-assurance that belied her nervousness. She paused, gaze flickering from his for just a moment to look towards the tent flap. When they returned to his, she clarified. There was no other way to put it, but she was ready for the punishment if he took her words in the wrong way, as a threat rather than as a warning for his benefit. He was unpredictable at the best of times.
“Magnus is going to die.”
She’d finally realised why the scent of coal was so strong. Death did indeed dance around Ulfsune, but when they were alone, it was dulled somewhat compared to outside. It hadn’t taken her long to discern that it was because Magnus was being stalked by it, too.
It would happen soon. There was a sour taste to the smell now, his death was imminent, although she was not sure how it would come about.
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Post by Red Irish Dragon on Jan 30, 2021 19:36:09 GMT
Ulfsune had stilled at her words, unknowingly having touched on his own morbid fascination. She could tell him about death? This didn’t sound like a threat, with a clarity that belied the assumption that she was speaking in religious terms.
What she said next, however, earned a reaction.
The warlord stood, slowly, his gaze never flickering from hers. It didn’t take much for his long strides to make it over to her, looming over her as he continued to stare, the mirth gone from his entire countenance.
Of the death he had seen, had inflicted and been nearly taken by, Magnus was one of the few he’d actually respond to. Once, when the battle went against the warlord and he’d been stabbed, it was only because of Magnus that he survived, dragging him away to safety and nursing him back to health. Magnus meant more to Ulfsune than most could realize.
“How?”
The question was odd, as if he believed that she wasn’t threatening the old warrior, but the darkness in his gaze was worse than ever. This, more than anything, showed the danger in the woman’s words, announcing that one of the few whose death would actually matter was imminent.
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Post by Kelathi on Jan 30, 2021 21:56:21 GMT
Her heart rate distinctly sped up upon Ulfsune’s response, but she kept her gaze level, resisting the urge to cower and step back, even as he loomed over her. There was something about Magnus that was different from the others, she realised too late, certain now that if she had claimed some other man of Ulfsune’s party was to die, he would not have reacted in the same way. There was warning in his step, a predatory glint in his eye, his words encouraging her to go on, but every fibre of her fight or flight instinct telling her not to.
She wasn’t sure how she managed to keep her voice so steady as she next spoke, his question and the ominous approach rendering her momentarily silent. Did he mean how could she know, or was he asking how Magnus would die? She decided upon the latter, although both questions she did not really have a straight answer to.
“I can’t tell you how, or by whose hand.” She responded quietly, readying herself, sure she was about to feel the back of his hand,- or worse. Maybe he would take this as her refusing to tell him, rather than the fact that she simply did not know. Maybe he did not believe her, and would punish her for trying to play games. Ulfsune was fiercely unpredictable, she could not hope to guess accurately how he would react, but she was beginning to think that maybe she would have been better keeping quiet and trying her luck at running, rather than facing his fury now.
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Post by Red Irish Dragon on Feb 6, 2021 21:03:40 GMT
As he had been with Knut, Ulfsune’s hand snaked out fast, suddenly grabbing the woman by the hair and dragging her towards him, tilting her head back while simultaneously drawing her up towards him, not caring what discomfort or worse he was inflicting.
His face, however, hadn’t changed, still that quiet darkness… but as she was drawn closer, his lip began to curl into a leer.
“So confident it will happen,” he began, his voice husky and deep, almost a growl, “But not so confident how. And I’m to believe this? Some vague notion of death coming? As if it isn’t already coming for us all… waiting, silently… impatiently…”
His last few words showed Ulfsune’s mind was drawn not back to the battlefield, but to the spectre, his eyes even losing focus for a moment. But then his gaze did sharpen and refocus, tilting his own chin up a little as he looked down at her, the sneer earning a wolfish edge.
“And what proof do you have of your… usefulness?”
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Post by Kelathi on Feb 6, 2021 23:52:06 GMT
She had expected the sudden movement, but that did not stop her heart from leaping into her throat anyhow. She had tensed, but instead of going for her throat, he had grabbed a fistful of her hair. As he yanked her forwards, her hands came up automatically, pressing against his chest to no avail, the strength of which he held her bringing her to her toes. To her credit, her gaze was fiery as it met his, her defiance her only defence, as her strength surely wasn’t. “It’s not a vague notion!” She replied, her eyes flashing angrily, brazenly spurred on by the sheer hopelessness of her situation. “I know what you intend to do to me tonight. Just give me until tomorrow. You will see my worth.” For it would surely happen tonight. The stench of death had only grown, she could even feel the tension in the air, shuddering like a taut wire. If she was right, Magnus would die before dawn.
If she was wrong… then the encroaching death that she could sense was probably for herself.
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Post by Red Irish Dragon on Feb 11, 2021 5:43:12 GMT
The chuckle that escaped Ulfsune was chilling. In spite of the fact that she was foretelling the death of someone who actually mattered to him, trying to use this knowledge as leverage against him… he laughed.
“Tomorrow, then. I’ll decide what to do with you tomorrow…”
His words trailed off momentarily, as his other hand came up to trace a line from her chin down between her breasts, even as his gaze remained locked with hers. “And when I decide what will happen to you,” he went on, lifting her up a little more by her hair, “There will be… no… misunderstanding.” The growl was clearly a reference to the idea of her warning being vague, although whether that was a warning in return, or just his morbid sense of humor was unclear, given that his wolfish smirk hadn’t shifted either way.
But even as he let go, dropping her from his grip before heading out of the tent again, there was absolutely no sign that showed that he’d look upon her favorably even if she did prove “useful.”
---
The rest of the day and night had gone along as usual, the same drunken fights, the same lustful glances when the woman had been dragged out to join the men alongside Ulfsune.
Magnus had seemed fine, even though the Red Wolf had been watching him from the corner of his eye, not once trying to warn him of the lingering shadow that had been brought up by the Valkyrie. So, not because of some unknown illness, then… He’d have to be patient himself, wait for the dawn to see what happened.
The old warrior had kept asking about sacrificing the woman to spare Ulfsune from his curse, even now in front of the woman herself, but it was unclear what Ulfsune was intending to do with her. He had only suggested the threat of rape, never once actually forcing her to do anything but act as a warm bedfellow. He had never once tried to dissuade Magnus that he intended to sacrifice her, and yet he hadn’t made a single move to kill her, whether it was as sacrifice or just in one of his many bouts of madness. Perhaps he just enjoyed having the woman there, like how a cat might enjoy keeping a mouse alive until it was ready to set its fate.
In the end, it hadn’t been Ulfsune who decided. He had only set things in motion, the final straw being placed and breaking the precarious ‘bond’ with his men.
He had woken early the next morning, earlier than usual, with a start. Slowly he sat up, pulling away from his bed of furs with his eyes fixed on the entrance of the tent. The woman had of course known he was getting up, would hear the sharp intake as he had awoken - she’d been dragged back to his bed again, as if fulfilling the promise he had made the day before, only to once more be trapped in the cage of his arms.
But she was hardly catching his attention now as he stared, recognizing the sounds outside. There was grunting, cries, meaty sounds of flesh against flesh… of whistling metal sinking in like an eager predator. These were sounds he knew all too well, the serenade of the battlefield.
Why were they outside his tent?
The answer was soon brought in to the warlord, as the bloodied, lifeless form of Magnus was unceremoniously dragged in, only to be dropped to the side like garbage. It was a sight intended to strike fear, that even a warrior as strong as Magnus, as wise and as cunning, as loyal to Ulfsune, was dead. The men stepped inside the tent even as the cries of falling warriors and slaves could still be heard faintly echoing outside, weapons already streaked with crimson and eager to add the blood of the warlord to them.
A tall, dark figure strode ahead of the others, smirking, an evil glint in his eyes. “This is for Knut,” Erik announced, although it was clear that it was only a flimsy excuse to finally turn on the mad wolf. The man held out his battle axe, pointing it towards Ulfsune, before letting it swing down towards the woman.
“Your blood will flow alongside Knut’s pyre this day,” Erik went on, quite obviously confident in his victory. Ulfsune was standing, but he had obviously just awoken… there was no way he could fetch his dangerous new weapon before he’d be taken down by the group. But they were all still tense, despite Erik’s ego. It would be a hard won victory against the Red Wolf, but the men had confidence they could finally take out the warlord.
Who began to chuckle, the same morbid tone that the woman had grown used to. A smirk had spread across his lips at the blatant threats, the mutiny. The look of proud and arrogant victory had fallen from the face of every man at this response, a few growing mad while others simply grew nervous. How could Ulfsune be laughing at a time like this?!
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Post by Kelathi on Feb 11, 2021 21:27:48 GMT
When Ulfsune had begun to laugh, Annika was sure her defiance would this time earn her the gift of her swift demise. Instead, surprisingly, he had agreed to give her more time. She knew this promise was precarious, but she clung onto it anyhow. Before any sense of relief could set in, he’d lifted his other hand and reached out to her. She’d stiffened as he came into contact with her body, even as she forced her gaze to stay on his, his suggestive touch turning her stomach with fear. The next time he pulled her up even closer still, her toes actually left the floor for a moment.
So, she had some time.
She hoped it would be enough.
**
The day had proceeded pretty much the same as the one before, except there was now a heightened sense of tension about the camp, no doubt down to the way that Ulfsune had disposed of Knut. If there was one thing to be thankful of, it was the fact that the lecherous gazes from the men had become less-so, if only when the warlord’s gaze drifted over them. The men were wary of him, more so than they had been before, unsure of what actions might result in receiving the warrior’s unpredictable fury. When Ulfsune dragged her towards him, she didn’t fight this time, thinking it unwise to give him reason to reconsider his lenient decision to give her more time.
When night arrived and her premonition had still yet to come true, Annika was starting to grow increasingly nervous. She had been so sure, and she’d never been wrong before. Yet, so much rode on what she had said, it would be impossible not to worry, to double-guess herself. When Ulfsune led her back to the tent and disappeared to do… whatever it was he did, she’d spent the time fretting, pacing to and fro. She was no longer concerned that another man hoping to try his luck would storm her ‘refuge’, but there was the feeling in the air that something was about to happen.
Ulfsune had entered the tent much later, long after the sun had set. She had been sat on a chair, but she’d stood up quickly as he entered. The smell of mead on his breath was unmistakeable, and as he shrugged off his furs, she realised with that he had not come for her to lead her to some makeshift sacrificial stage. Instead, like the night before, he’d hoisted her bodily up and dragged her again to his bed. Although she fought, it was half-hearted this time, aware of how her actions did little to stop his actions or even slow him down. Finding herself once more caged in his arms, she was much less resistant than the first night, which had been punctuated with her occasional renewed struggle against him. This time, she was still, and in the silence, broken only by the warlord’s heavy breathing, she prayed to the Gods for their help, mutely.
She must have fallen asleep eventually, because suddenly she was waking, disturbed by the sound of a sharp intake of breath, the warrior’s arms becoming stiff and tight around her for a moment. When he arose, pulling himself out from the warmth of the furs, she did not immediately move, but simply watched him. It took a moment for her to register the noises outside, not as familiar to them as he. As the tent flap was pushed open, she sat up quickly, eyes wide as the men pushed into the space. Although she heard the words that were spoken, and had seen the lifeless body of Magnus- it all seemed to happen far away, as if she were observing from somewhere else. Although Erik had motioned to her, too, with his threat, Ulfsune held the attention of all present. That was why she had been able to reach for her weapons without anyone noticing.
Ulfsune’s laugh had been punctuated by the sound of something splitting the air in two. Then, a firm thunk, and the man who had been speaking just moments before, swayed for a second, looking both surprised and confused.
An arrow imbedded between his eyes.
He fell backwards heavily, barely a whimper accentuating his death, and she had docked another arrow by the time the stunned men had begun to move.
Annika may be about to die, but it was not going to be without taking someone down with her.
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Post by Red Irish Dragon on Feb 13, 2021 19:57:50 GMT
The arrow was… unexpected.
Ulfsune had only laughed longer at the sudden attack, not needing to glance back to understand what had happened. He was also experienced enough to know not to look back, and keep his gaze on the threat.
The remaining warriors had hesitated, shocked by the sudden reversal. It was all that Ulfsune needed, but he didn’t bother with trying to lay his hands on one of his own weapons.
The first man Ulfsune attacked fell to his own weapon, wrenched out of his hands even as the swing moved into another. A shield was taken from one man, the axe being traded for a sword as he moved through. As one weapon would become trapped within a man, he’d move on to the next, whether he felled the warrior or another arrow did. Even if Ulfsune was keeping her against her will, she obviously knew what her fate would be in the hands of the other men.
It took little time at all for Ulfsune to finally step out of the tent, only a few scratches visible on his skin from the battle. But as he stepped out, it was obvious what had awoken him.
The last of his loyal followers were already lying on the ground, the traitors turning to look at the warlord as he emerged, already splattered with blood. Most seemed surprised that he was still standing, but they began to approach, ready to take him down before squabbling over who would be earl after. A few even laughed as Ulfsune dropped his weapon and shield, as if they thought he would be surrendering after all. As if that would save him. They knew that even if by sheer number alone, the warlord was no match for the lot of them.
How wrong they were.
It wasn’t like Ulfsune couldn’t have tried to take them down by hand, the spacing enough to suggest he could cut them down just as he had in the tent. But there was a dangerous air to him as he looked about the camp, like a predator surveying its territory. A few of the faces staring lifelessly from the ground had surprised him, evidently dead for their loyalty. No, it wasn’t out of desperation that he felt his hands stretch out, feeling the prickle in his skin.
He wanted them to suffer. Not just die by his hand, but suffer. So it was with this that his gaze suddenly grew golden and bright, making only the closest two men pause at the sudden and unexpected shift.
The rest stopped when they realized there were flames beginning to rise up from his hands, licking the skin as gently as a winter’s breath against the snow. One man had murmured something, and Ulfsune didn’t need to hear it to know what it was about.
His weapon… his terrifying new method for killing… wasn’t the one they had assumed it was.
With a roar, Ulfsune charged and grabbed the two closest men by the throat, but it wasn’t his strength that had them screaming. The flames lit them up within seconds, so hot the wind swirled about them before they fell as ash. The other men had begun to back up, not wanting to get within range. Not that it mattered. A man began to fit an arrow to bowstring when he too suddenly erupted in flames. All it had taken was a wave of the warlord’s hand.
It was from this that chaos erupted. The men didn’t know where to go, Ulfsune charging into the fray and taking out men by hand, the only sound drowning out the screams was the bellow of the flames as they rushed, decimating the camp within minutes. And it was only because Ulfsune was taking his time hunting down the cowards who tried to run and hide, tents and land burning just as effortlessly as the rest. By the time the warlord had finally stilled, only the wind made any sound as it stirred up the ashes, the land beneath the camp just as lifeless as his crew had been.
Then he fell.
Ulfsune landed heavily on one knee, the flames finally dissipating as his breath grew ragged, almost weak. A hand held him upright, the other braced against his leg, but even weak he looked up defiantly at the shadow he knew was standing there, closer than ever. A hooded figure, the cloak’s edges dissipating like smoke in the wind, so dark it was hard to make out any details. There was an archaic feel to the form, with trimmings of fur and bone just distinguishable against its entirely black form, as if light couldn’t reflect off of such a being. But as always, when it tried to come closer, it was forced to fade, evaporating just like the ashes and smoke around them.
With a sigh, Ulfsune let his head hang, only managing to keep himself from falling over entirely, in a uniquely vulnerable position to any left standing behind him…
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Post by Kelathi on Feb 13, 2021 22:36:20 GMT
The acrid smell of smoke filled her lungs, the haunted screams of the men still echoing in her ears even though their throats could no longer utter a word. Her heart pounded painfully in her chest, every fibre of her being telling her to run, to get away as fast as she could, especially whilst Ulfsune was distracted. But she’d stayed, unable to tear her eyes away from the scene, unable, at first, to even move.
**
When it was almost over, she notched another arrow. The string of the bow was taut and ready, the flint pointed at the back of the man’s head.
Then the arrow went sailing through the air, imbedding itself neatly into the vulnerable spot where the neck meets the head. A gurgled cry punctuated his death, and he staggered forwards, dropping the axe harmlessly to the ground, falling in a crumpled heap behind Ulfsune.
Another arrow was notched quickly, but she didn’t send it off. Not yet. Instead, She stepped round, slowly. All the while, her bow was drawn, the arrow doggedly pointed at the warlord, and she stopped before him. The roles had reversed, now he was at her mercy. She had her chance to finish this, and to escape.
And yet… she hesitated.
She knew he could not do to her what he had done to the others. Not because she thought he had some sudden, uncharacteristic sense of mercy towards her, but rather because what he had done had exhausted him. The action had, albeit temporarily, leached the energy from his limbs, she was as sure of it as she was sure of approaching death. She knew that he would not be able to stop her should she choose to place an arrow between his eyes, and she knew that even if he did have one last burst of energy in order to leap up, he would not be able to move away quickly enough. How she knew all this, she wasn’t sure, but she felt it in her gut, like some God-given knowledge had suddenly been bestowed upon her.
Her fingers that held the arrow in place tingled, and she willed herself to loosen them, asking herself silently, angrily, why she hadn’t done so already. He was a monster, not a man. He had struck down many even before the carnage he had inflicted here today. He had tortured, maimed, and raped. He had threatened to do the same to her. He’d imprisoned her, and would have slaughtered her without a moment’s thought. For him, to kill was as natural as breathing.
So why didn’t she send the arrow sailing into his face? Maybe it was because of the creature that she’d seen.
There was something tied to Ulfsune. Something stronger even than him, even with his powers, however ill-gotten they might have been. That thing frightened her, even more so than the warlord, and for that reason, she decided to spare him. This wasn’t her fight, and she could see that to dispatch of him wasn’t her fate, no matter how badly she wanted it to be. Her hands relaxed a little, the string of the bow loosening slightly, the arrow pointing down- then suddenly she drew it back again, sending the arrow whistling towards him.
It imbedded itself into the ground besides him, nicking his clothing but leaving him unharmed.
“I don’t know what that creature was, or why it’s following you.” She spoke steadily, her unmatched eyes fixed on his. Unwavering. Fierce. “But I will have no part in it.” Her last words were spoken firmly, almost a growl, and she turned away swiftly, knowing he would be too weak to follow. Even so, turning her back on the warlord, however vulnerable he might be in that moment, brought with it a sense of anxiety. She resisted the urge to look back at him as she disappeared into the smoke.
**
Annika cursed aloud.
The bastards had set her boat alight. All that was left were a few charred remains, much of it had been swept away by the tide. She eyed Ulfsune’s longboat for a moment but knew she would have no luck trying to sail it on her own. It crossed her mind to search for supplies, but she was in no mood to go rummaging through anything that belonged to the warlord. With a sigh, she turned away from the beach, and began to make her way back up to the safety of the trees. She could see even from here, the smoke billowing up into the air, and she steered well-clear, heading in the opposite direction. Her hand clutched the bow tightly, and she looked behind her often, tense and ready should she be followed.
A few days passed, and although she found signs of civilisation, she found no people. She came across an abandoned farmhouse, cracked and crumbling with age, and a lone lean-to, the roof caved in. But not a soul. She had no idea where she was, or whether she would meet the end of the island before she met another person. Either way, she kept walking, stopping only to rest or hunt. As the days had stretched on, she found herself looking back less and less, concentrating instead, on what was ahead.
Her nights were dreamless, which she thought curious, but for which she was thankful for. The last thing she wanted to do was relive the horror she’d seen at the hands of Ulfsune. So she pushed on.
The sun was going down by the time she decided to stop travelling for the day, and she rustled together a quick, modest fire. With the threat of the raiders seemingly far behind her, her current pressing concern was that of the cold. Although she had been on the lookout, she had yet to spy a wolf or a bear, so she’d had to make do with rabbit pelts. With them, she’d made a pair of boots, the fur lining keeping her feet warm and protecting them from the elements. But that was all, as she had prioritised travel, anxious to keep moving and not stay in one place for too long. Sitting close to the fire, she sat with her bow in her lap, the quiver at her side. One hand was wrapped around her bow, and the other reached for her neck, subconsciously ghosting over the area she'd been marked.
She was about to find out how little good putting distance behind her, had done.
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