their fall from grace will pave their path

A blood red seeping through the sky, eerie and brilliant. Björn didn't have an explanation, not beyond what he'd already seen. The stories of his father's people, the onset of Ragnarök, blooms close in his mind. For as grim as it is, he can't say he's not enchanted by it. Drawn in, excited, in the worst way. Still, it's a thought for another day. Once he's gotten his feet better under him, once he's recovered from the falling out with his father. Björn could only pretend that he wasn't still reeling from the experience, fresh wounds concealed under his thick coat.

He's not alone with his thoughts for long, the girl melting from the shadowy fjord-- that couldn't be real. Björn was hallucinating, or at least, convinced he was until she spoke. They'd met here the first time, when they were only children. It seemed both had grown into themselves considerably, in the time since they'd last met. One eyebrow quirking, a rakish grin splitting his rough features as she neared.

Pretty, pretty as the fjord around them. Björn unwound from his place, carefully tucked in among the steep, rocky sides. The grasses below were still lush, summer here milder but no less plentiful. Between the steep sides and the inlet, this was a place capable of making its own weather. Temperate, even cool, under the blood red sky. A picture so strange, it would be unforgettable in time. Beneath is paws, the ground hardly feels real.

"Run from you? Never, skitsnygg," his voice deeper than the last time, brassy. Shoulders rolling as he moves, flexing his muscles. "Nothing is permanent, you know." A wink, though the bitterness isn't entirely chased from his tone. Allowing it to consume him, allowing it to taint his already tormented head-- what could go wrong? What could go wrong that wasn't already wrong, inside the troubled creature. Easy does it. Moving to stand face to face with the girl of his dreams, Björn assess her openly.

"Björn"