ge mig frid

Víðarr · 02-09-2023, 01:38 AM

She was wounded, and Víðarr didn't know how to fix things. How to fix her. He had to try, right? He had to try, and yet was he even in the state to do so himself? There was no telling. The shadow had never been anything of a healer. No, he is a dealer of harm, of chaos, of destruction... she should have never been caught up in that. She shouldn't have been caught up in that, but here she was. Here she was in the flesh, for him to hold tight to. She was real, and solid, and here. She was here despite everything, though the shadow could sense it wouldn't be for long. There was something, someone she was bound to in a way different than he.

Tove shifts away from his side. No, it comes, and he can barely stifle the whimper that builds in his throat. Only nearly does Víðarr manage to choke it back, setting his massive head on large paws. He understands, though he doesn't want to. "Käraste, it is the warriors who wear the scars," the shadow's words are gentle. "They will always make you more, not less." Víðarr speaks softly, though she moves to widen the gap between them. He would let her move freely, let her go if she wanted, but he's not pleased with it.

Víðarr's breath was shaky, and he let go a soft sigh. "You deserve more than you know, and I suspect more than you will accept." It's an assessment, a genuine one. If he knows Tove half as well as he thinks, the shadow has gotten it right. He can't help but watch her, studying carefully. Sure, the shadow is studying for a reaction, but there's something else. There's the worry in his heart that this will be the last time, at least for a long while, that Víðarr lays eyes on her. For a man who's never wanted anything more than to be let run wild, as a scourge on this land and any he can reach, he doesn't know how to care. He doesn't know how to care like this. It's foreign.

And then she's on her feet. He can feel the moment slipping through his fingers, and the ache as it resonates in his chest. Her words, and he ay he feels... Víðarr's head spins. He can't help himself as she walks away, stumbling to his feet. "Stanna hos mig," the shadow has run out of words. These are the only ones he has left, and they're all he has to offer. A plea where he stands, rooted to the spot. A plea that the shadow can only hope will be answered.

"Víðarr"

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