that hypocrite smokes two packs a day

It wasn't their first trip down south, but this one felt... different. Weird. Björn⁢ wasn't entirely sure he liked what was hanging in the air. Not at home, not down south, not anywhere. Everything felt like ass garbage, the space between his ears included. There's an ache in his side and a weight in his chest, and Björn⁢ was frankly over it. Over the winter. Over the cold. Over the hurt. Sure, this trip was meant to be fun, but how could he even have fucking fun when Erik was hanging over his shoulder? Why's everyone so fucking hard on him all the time? By everyone... okay, he means his hard ass older brother, but whatever.

They'd stopped to make camp around Aspen Dam for the night, ahead of the festival. Something about traveling, and yeah they could have probably just as easily slept out on the Plains or even in the castle if they buttered Erik's girlfriend up about it, but then they'd have to play by the Hallows rules. Björn⁢ knew that would cramp the ever loving fuck out of his style, and he couldn't be assed to behave that long. If they were out in the Dam, he could be just as feral as he liked, thanks.

The drastic shift in temperatures from the Maw to Auster was disquieting, heat soaking into his thick, dark coat. Syrupy and nasty, even as the sun bled down through the horizon. A pretty night, if Björn⁢ had stopped to think about it. He uh. He wouldn't be stopping to think about it. No, instead he'd scowl at the water for a little while before making his move. No beavers to chase, and it seemed like the activity had scared off the fish. Dissatisfied that there's nothing to harass, Björn⁢ wades until he's chest deep in the cool water. Feeling it soak into his pelt and begin cooling him down.

A dark cloud hanging around his shoulders, a black mood taking hold. Not that it ever let go these days, but fuck it. At least they had something to look forward to tomorrow, and at least there's no one trying to tell him what to do... for now. Björn⁢'s heart was heavy, not that he'd admit it. Not that he'd give heed to those thoughts in any meaningful way. Instead, the boy just stews in his bad mood. If he's sitting in water for an extended period of time, that makes him soup, right?

"Björn"