Sweyn the Clanless

[Samson Option 9652]

 

Spoiler

 

 

The imprints in the snow filled as quickly as they set while a figure lumbered forward in a heavy shroud, motionless and grey-white. With each step the figure took, the shroud broke and beads of snow swirled inward as if to patch that which was torn by the man's broad-shouldered frame. The man steered away from any discernible path and kept his pace measured. The man made his way along the side of a wooded mountain for much of the day.

 

The blizzard persisted and he persisted likewise. The man drew his face up and the harrying precipitation took its liberties upon the color and texture of his cheeks. The sun passed its zenith and the man felt time drain like the red from his face as he kept his chin tilted upward. Time was of the essence and he reconciled the need for a restful shelter with a renewed urge to find his meal before the moon conspired with sun and took to the sky. The man folded the many-layered cloak and tightened it around his chin securely before taking out a bow. He scanned the treeline and deciphered the melodies of the forest, separated the whistles of small game bird and rascal rodents from the whimper of foxes and the rutting of male bucks.

 

The tap and scrap of horns caught the man's ear and he darted towards the tree line. As the line grew less dense, the man found himself entering a field partly uncovered with acorns being sought by a throng of deer. The sight of them delighted and their sight of him frightened, but another intruder made its presence known louder. A throaty bark dispersed the herd and left a bear and the man to face each other at a distance. The man held his breath in anticipation.

 

The bear made its way towards the man with a rash stride. The man straightened his stance and slid an arrow out and nocked it. The bear, with all its instinctual rage and primordial desire to satiate its hunger, continued its burly path.

 

"Beira. Den-Mother. Set my aim true and make my arm strong."

 

The man released his grip and the arrow launched forth. The bear continued with an awkward limp. The man notched a second arrow and raised his bow with a cold determination. He drew his breath, released, and watched as the arrow pierced the bear above the right eye. He bent over and observed with quiet veneration as the bear conjured the last reserves from its draining will to live that slipped away as easily as blood seeped through the two wounds marking it for dead. He meandered through a knapsack to find his skinning knives before standing back up and moving towards his dead prey.

 

The wind picked up and drew one last item from the half-folded knapsack. A soiled poster took flight, leaving the man unaware. In bold letters - the poster read Seeking all Gorundyr.

 

OOC: I figured I'd try to get back to my old fiction-writing self. Pardon the weaker features.

[Jygg 330]

((Holy ****. Your writing is amazing. Good to see you've gotten back into it again.

[Drunken Mutt 172]

Aine would mutter "Feck yei." from her home, for no real reason at all.