saturated in the smell of the man who took me into darkest night in his mission to show me inner light.
My god he smells delicious.
Snuggling deeper, stuck in the comfy arms of his male scented bed, my dreams run headlong into mountains and glowing halls where a lone lady stands to fight for justice.
Chapter 10
Macala:
I observe her slumber for an hour, my pulse accelerating when her eyelids light up from within. The l æraðr is clearly doing its work while she sleeps.
Thank Odin for that.
Smiling, I move back to the exit, stalking down the long quiet tunnel back to the main chamber. It's time to say farewell to the ones leaving.
The clan is gathered, the few of us remaining here is sparse and it tears my heart a little wider each year when the day of harvest comes.
Stooping in front of Inga, I give the frail old lady a hug, “Blessed be your journey, we shall miss you.”
She was once so tall and proud, strong and resilient, but her and Alf know their time is coming and this might be their last opportunity to be swept home.
She smiles, happiness sparkling her bright eyes, “Thank you Macala. One day we'll greet again.”
“ I'll wave,” I grin, knowing it's their moment of reuniting joy, not a goodbye but a simple farewell between her turn and mine.
“ See you next year,” says Alf, thumping my shoulder with the strength of a gnat.
I have no words, the lump in my throat clogging my voice efficiently. Stepping in so he can't read the pain in my eye I give him a big hug. Grandfather to our clan, I feel as if I'm losing a limb with this parting.
Andreas is also leaving tonight. He's not old but he's done waiting for fortune to favor his bereft heart. He nods to me, a sad expression painting his visage, then lifts Inga into his arms bidding me to carry Alf with a nudge of his head.
I am grateful I'll be safe from the harvest as I am finally fully grounded in Jötunheimr, thanks to Emma. Alf pats my shoulder in thanks when I lift his decrepit body into my arms and walk outside, directly into the path of the incoming wrath.
Standing side by side in the clearing I look into Andreas' face, wishing to say a million things before losing my childhood ally but he shakes his head, staring resolutely at the approaching storm with tears in his eyes.
It springs sorrow into my own and I swallow hard knowing I'll see his soul next year when the hunt rides through. It's not the end, it's a new beginning.
The spiritual wind gallops across the treetops, whistling haunting breath through the pines, announcing the arrival of Odin's steed Sleipnir. The backdraft sucks debris off the forest floor, riddling the air with dried needles and the earthbound clusters.
Soul-clusters lay in wait in the ground, ready to flee upward as the hunt rides over, lighter than laughter they rise, swept into the gale like shining comets chasing through the boughs.
Knowing time is nigh I snap to look at Andreas one last time, yelling over the volume of the storm, “Carpe noctem!” (Seize the night.)
Smiling widely he nods, “Gripe natten min bror!” (Seize the night my brother.)
Seize the night is our creed as harii and it's right to bid last greet to him in our brotherhood oath.
Looking up, the wind bearing down in whiplashing tempest, I watch as the forefathers cover the sky with their nebulous breath, harvesting the ready and the lost into their scudding clouds, roiling thunder and lightning across the heavens.
The flitter of sparkles from the hibernating souls join the brilliance of their brethren into celebrating their escape, plasma scorching cheer across the dark as they enter the euphoria of their homecoming. Thunder booms with the uproar overhead, the ascension party in full swing as they scythe through the night in raucous jubilation.
A dark strike earths at my feet, a rare phenomenon known as black lightning. I wave, my chest crushing me with grief, smiling through my tears at Andreas saying his final
My god he smells delicious.
Snuggling deeper, stuck in the comfy arms of his male scented bed, my dreams run headlong into mountains and glowing halls where a lone lady stands to fight for justice.
Chapter 10
Macala:
I observe her slumber for an hour, my pulse accelerating when her eyelids light up from within. The l æraðr is clearly doing its work while she sleeps.
Thank Odin for that.
Smiling, I move back to the exit, stalking down the long quiet tunnel back to the main chamber. It's time to say farewell to the ones leaving.
The clan is gathered, the few of us remaining here is sparse and it tears my heart a little wider each year when the day of harvest comes.
Stooping in front of Inga, I give the frail old lady a hug, “Blessed be your journey, we shall miss you.”
She was once so tall and proud, strong and resilient, but her and Alf know their time is coming and this might be their last opportunity to be swept home.
She smiles, happiness sparkling her bright eyes, “Thank you Macala. One day we'll greet again.”
“ I'll wave,” I grin, knowing it's their moment of reuniting joy, not a goodbye but a simple farewell between her turn and mine.
“ See you next year,” says Alf, thumping my shoulder with the strength of a gnat.
I have no words, the lump in my throat clogging my voice efficiently. Stepping in so he can't read the pain in my eye I give him a big hug. Grandfather to our clan, I feel as if I'm losing a limb with this parting.
Andreas is also leaving tonight. He's not old but he's done waiting for fortune to favor his bereft heart. He nods to me, a sad expression painting his visage, then lifts Inga into his arms bidding me to carry Alf with a nudge of his head.
I am grateful I'll be safe from the harvest as I am finally fully grounded in Jötunheimr, thanks to Emma. Alf pats my shoulder in thanks when I lift his decrepit body into my arms and walk outside, directly into the path of the incoming wrath.
Standing side by side in the clearing I look into Andreas' face, wishing to say a million things before losing my childhood ally but he shakes his head, staring resolutely at the approaching storm with tears in his eyes.
It springs sorrow into my own and I swallow hard knowing I'll see his soul next year when the hunt rides through. It's not the end, it's a new beginning.
The spiritual wind gallops across the treetops, whistling haunting breath through the pines, announcing the arrival of Odin's steed Sleipnir. The backdraft sucks debris off the forest floor, riddling the air with dried needles and the earthbound clusters.
Soul-clusters lay in wait in the ground, ready to flee upward as the hunt rides over, lighter than laughter they rise, swept into the gale like shining comets chasing through the boughs.
Knowing time is nigh I snap to look at Andreas one last time, yelling over the volume of the storm, “Carpe noctem!” (Seize the night.)
Smiling widely he nods, “Gripe natten min bror!” (Seize the night my brother.)
Seize the night is our creed as harii and it's right to bid last greet to him in our brotherhood oath.
Looking up, the wind bearing down in whiplashing tempest, I watch as the forefathers cover the sky with their nebulous breath, harvesting the ready and the lost into their scudding clouds, roiling thunder and lightning across the heavens.
The flitter of sparkles from the hibernating souls join the brilliance of their brethren into celebrating their escape, plasma scorching cheer across the dark as they enter the euphoria of their homecoming. Thunder booms with the uproar overhead, the ascension party in full swing as they scythe through the night in raucous jubilation.
A dark strike earths at my feet, a rare phenomenon known as black lightning. I wave, my chest crushing me with grief, smiling through my tears at Andreas saying his final
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