Crawling in my skin
The man's heart definitely was on a broken string. Like thorns had been wrapped around it and permanently so. He didn't feel like a warrior, he didn't feel like anything. Though the cat he had come in contact with had still painted a symbol of Viking strength onto his missing eye. What did it mean.... to be a Viking? Had it been almost the same as his father, if so was he destined to becoming a raging ball of hatred. Curse his blood, as it boiled deep in his veins. He was tied to Yfir, tied to it like a caged animal was how he felt. Yet he was trying, trying endlessly to feel as if he belonged. As if he could do something here, but once someone came to the sick realization that he was utterly alone it was hard. No friends, almost indefinitely no family. His sons weren't even his sons anymore in the back of his mind, not that they held him any ill will regardless.
It was mainly that his first encounter with Laufey, he had screwed up, very bad. Now the other male wanted nothing to do with him. Vereux was forever weak and useless unless he trained himself to the utter edge. His single emerald eye watching the waterfall, who was he kidding he lost everything he got attached to. It would not surprise him if he ended up a thrall, but he would much rather lose himself in the blood and fighting that Yfir had to offer him.
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