...And my axe!
Jackal
His attention changed. Bylgja felt a distinct shock of pleasant surprise at the realization. That was... perfect. Good. Let him listen. Let him learn. Her world was one of breaking things, but-- she wanted to talk about it, she found. And so she did.
A soft inhale, before she started talking again. "We call it Ragnarok. We do not know how it started. Only that we must bear it, and fight it. It is all I knew, the monsters. They come in the night, in the day." Her paw tapped down, idly. Her tail thumped. One. Two. Three. "The dead rise. There are creatures -- hive things. They come to the dead. They raise them in horrible, horrible shapes. These are the monsters. They take you. They take you and... turn you into one of them. Your body breaks. Changes. I saw my Aunt die this way. It was on my honor that I took my axe and drove it into her brain." The words come... not with a traumatized edge, but something that is almost proud. Practical.
This is what her life was. "Here..." And Bylgja rises, then, only to find a patch of discolored dirt. She smears her claws into it, and there, on the ground, she sketches out a being that looks mostly like a wolf, only its face is too long, and its jaws come out of its face, into a strange, lashing tongue. She points. "It is like this, sometimes. The tongue is what turns you." And she laughs, softly. Self-consciously. "So... here, is... much... different. I am not used to it yet." A quiet admission. One that comes with a shrug of her shoulders. |