Hopes for forgivness

Cairo was quick, the man moved on withering legs, his passion for Valhalla being pulled out and stretched for whatever the remainder of his days were. He would be moving on soon: afterlife, and he would find that, with hope, things could survive without him. He was the king to a slain nation, and with any hope, that nation would find revival and sanctity. Offering his services in the only ways he knew how, he arrived, the earthen male, on the border of Valhalla. Smiling eyes and offering a chuff as a greeting, he nodded to the recognizable man and brought his old legs to the Earth. If death were to be his taker this day, so be it.

"Welcome to Valhalla, friend, I assume acceptance, correct me if I am wrong," All he were aiming for in his final days would be valhalla thriving and being something strong. calmed breath, the ragged king watched with fervor and interest as he waited for the vagabond to speak.