GOT AN ANGEL ON MY SHOULDER
But the devil always won...
Hárekr mused at the hare that dangled fresh from his jaws. He'd settled quickly into Yfir but was too untried to take part in the raid and so he remained to guard the borders. In the meantime he'd dug his den and started stocking up on kills for what he was sure would be a glorious victory! He'd been working with the other's that remained behind, Lyndvarr, Lærke, Kismet… he hadn't quite gotten all the names yet. Part of him was supremely disappointed to be left out of the raiding, but the taking of prey had eased some of bloodlust. Next time. Next raid he would sate his thirst for battle.
Háre trotted up to the returning band, setting his catch down and licking the blood from his maw before speaking. "I am pleased at your return, I take it you have spilled much blood in the name of the gods?" He quirked his head to the side as he watched the monkey creature doing its… weird things again. He dimly found himself wondering what it tasted like. Bi-colored gems lingered over the jars and his nostrils flared as he took a few steps closer. Nose wrinkled. Ick… what was that stuff? Medicine?
