Woof!

It is nice to see Athlain in the pixels, as it were. One of these days I am going to have to get Morrowind, the more I read of your story, the more I want to play it.

Interlude 9

Excerpts from several letters from Solstheim to Ald'ruhn:

Mother:

I apologize for not writing sooner. I have been on a difficult confidential mission for the Legion, and had no means of sending word. I am well and hope you and all the family are the same. I have no idea when I will be able to come home; the situation at present is-- unsettled. Please give my regards to Aunt Serene and Uncle Athyn.

Oh, and to Athynae, of course.

Athlain


Mama:

I am fine. I will be home eventually. So for now, please STOP IT! I saw Sethyas lurking around Fort Frostmoth- you should tell him he is slipping.

Athynae


To: Sarethi Manor, Ald'ruhn, Vvardenfell

Serene:

You worry too much. You always did.

Seth


Excerpt from The Prophecies of the Hunter-

The child of the blood
Whole in body, wounded in spirit

Loses all and only, alas
Seeks surcease in sacred stones

Taking up off-cast skin,
The invader seeks to atone


A note left at Thirsk, Solstheim (a portion):

?and so I must leave you, my love. Please forgive me. I wish things were different, but it is better this way. In time, we will see each other again- if you want to, of course. I will look for you in Ald'ruhn when the flowers bloom.

As much as I like the intimacy that writing in first person can provide, it does significantly limit options to provide alternative perspectives. Letters and notes, I believe, are one such alternative. I'm pleased to see that you seem to agree. 'Tis a refreshing change of pace, and well done here. Different perspectives than Athlain's, but the same subtle, light touch that permeates your wonderful writing.

Sorry for being off topic but he looks ALOT like john travolta!

Great Job Treydog! I love the intimacy of the letters home.

The creator of Athynae has graciously given her permission for me to post some pictures.

http://img190.imageshack.us/img190/6851/athynaeparty.jpg

The dress is from Better Bodies Silk Dresses and the other mod is Better Bodies. I think Athynae may have blinked when I took the screen-shot, but....

The party for which she is preparing is mentioned in Chapter 3.

I have one other picture, but it will have to wait, as it reveals a plot point.

Thanks treydog!

Your writing brings them to life beautifully, but having images now of Athlain and Athynae draws us even further into your wonderful story.

I liked the letters. Each shows us a different facet of the person writing them. Something many writers forget that real people wear many masks in life, and behave very differently depending on which one we are wearing. For example, I am one person at work, another when I am around my mother, another when I am home alone, etc... Because what is appropriate for home might well not be for work, etc... In these letters we see a personal side to Athlain and Athynae that does not always show otherwise. For example, I cannot imagine hearing Athynae referring to her mother as "Mama" around anyone else.

I especially liked the prophecy of the hunter, and that last scrap from Thrisk. Both were very moving.

Ok so I've been following this story at Chorrol, but figured I'd stop by here to read as well. Now as treydog said, Athynae is the daughter of Serene, my fanfic-charachter. But that's it, yes I invented her but what has become of her is a creation of trey's! He made her better than I ever would have been able to and also exactly as I pictured her in my mind.

I am so proud that treydog wants to use her in this amazing story!


:foodndrink: :clap:

I loved your most recent chapters! I very much like how you show a more human side to Athynae with the mention of her crying - but the fact that she does it alone, and doesn't let it interrupt her duties when responsibility is more important, is very touching. Also, the picture of her is gorgeous - that face and hair combination happened to be one of my very favourites in Morrowind! Oh, and always, I like the detached omniscienct view the selection of letters gives. SubRosa made a very interesting point about how it gives an insight into the different faces people put on for different occasions.


I take it personally too, mALX1 - perhaps we should solve this problem using the more physical concepts?

The letters and other "documentary" fragments were an important part of how I conceived this story- I had even considered writing a (much shorter) version that was comprised entirely of such "journalistic" elements. But I liked the sound of my own voice too much to follow through with that. Nevertheless, I am very pleased that the Interludes work for my readers.

@SubRosa- Athynae suffers similar problems to Athlain- her mother is Arch-Master (or Mistress) of House Redoran, and a hugely important figure in Vvardenfell. However, being a girl, Athynae is not quite as-- angry-- about her circumstances. And she is (no surprise) more mature than the "hero" of the tale.

@Acadian- Again, my thanks. It was largely because of the exampe you provided that I decided to get off my doggie tail and do something about screen-shots. They really add a lot to a story.

@minque- Thanks to your excellent story, all I had to do was consider- "What would Serene's first-born daughter be like?" Thus Athynae has been a wonderfully easy character to write, even in all her complexity as a person. Thank you for letting me "borrow" her- I hope to see "Athynae's Story" appear under your signature... (hint, hint)

@mALX1 and Rumpleteasza- You wouldn't hurt a cute little doggie, would you? How about if I offered you some homemade cinnamon-raisin bread?

-----------------------------------------------------

Chapter 9

It was deep night by the time Athynae and Mirisa vanished in a flash of magicka. My weariness, formerly held in abeyance by the needs of the moment, returned full force. I glanced at the door to the room that I had been given, and then went instead into Athynae's room. It seemed unlikely that she would return before morning, and already I missed her terribly. She had not unpacked yet, just dropped her things inside the door. I could see the outline of her body where she had lain on the bed, and felt a twinge of guilt at the tear-stains on the pillow. But I was too worn out even to engage in a new round of self-loathing, so I sat carefully on the edge of the bed and removed my boots. I reached inside the too-large shirt that had been loaned to me and extracted Athynae's scarf- her "favor," as she had called it back in Ald'ruhn. I had carried it with me ever since that day, and it was frayed and not so clean as it might have been. But through some magic or alchemy too arcane for my poor brain to fathom, it still retained a hint of her perfume. I wrapped it around my throat, laid down my head, and let my tears mingle with hers on the pillow.

The night passed, as we always hope darkness will, and I awoke to the light of a new day. When I opened the door, I discovered that someone had laundered and patched my clothes and left them on a bench in the hall. I donned them gratefully, and went downstairs to see about something to eat. My healing at Athynae's hands had brought back my appetite, and I hoped the Nords of Thirsk not only drank, but ate. In fact, I discovered that they ate quite well- bread liberally covered with honey, sausages made from bristleback, and a choice of wine or berry juice. Better still; the morning meal was a relatively quiet affair, perhaps out of deference to those who had over-indulged the previous night. I lingered for a time after eating, hoping that Athynae would put in an appearance and allow me a chance to apologize for my behavior. One of Father's rules for a harmonious home was to always admit fault, whether or not he had, in fact, been in the wrong. His words came back to me, spoken as he smiled at Mother, seated across the room reading:

"You won't understand this now, but someday you will. What matters is that I love her. Who is right and who is wrong has nothing to do with it."

And now I did understand. I only hoped Athynae would give me a chance to tell her that I had been a fool.

By midmorning, she still had not returned, but I tried to ignore my worry. She was safe at Fort Frostmoth, a stronghold guarded by Imperial Legionnaires?. Hmm. Perhaps it was just as well not to spend too much time on the idea of Athynae in a fort full of lonely soldiers. Besides, I had other concerns. The main one was to see to this Erich, who thought he could get away with abusing women. Mirisa was a member of the Imperial Cult and was based at the same fort as I- that made her mistreatment my business. More than that, I had been raised with Redoran values and with Father's unyielding concept of honor- and that made it personal. I hoped the Nord hunter would return soon, as I preferred to keep Athynae out of it, if I could. But if I was going to confront Erich - and possibly his clan- I needed to prepare. Thanks to 'Thyna, I had a handful of restorative and fortification potions, but I needed something else. After I was promoted from Spearman, my Legion training had emphasized fighting with a weapon and shield- a shield which I no longer had. Facing a Nord who was liable to be armed with a hammer or axe, I really wanted the extra protection, especially since I was going to be fighting without armor. My Legion kit was back in Gandrung Cavern, and I had also left behind the cast-offs taken from the smugglers.

Before stepping out into the cold morning sun, I let Svenja know where I was going, and then crunched through the new snow to the hut where Brynjolfr's fire still glowed. He was not working at the forge, but was instead seated on a bench, fitting pieces of light metal into one of a pair of fur greaves. He glanced up briefly when I entered, but went on with his task without speaking. I observed for a minute and then took up the opposite greave and mirrored his actions. He still made no comment, but moved the armor plates closer to me with his foot. When we had finished inserting the reinforcement into the specially-made pockets in the greaves, he produced two large, curved needles and several lengths of waxed rawhide cord. We sewed the pockets closed over the metal, continuing to work in silence. When I was finished, Brynjolfr took the armored legging from me and checked its shape and stitching against his own. He gave a grunt of satisfaction, then stretched his back and set the greaves aside before retrieving a clay bottle from behind the forge. I shook my head when he offered it to me, waiting while he took a long swallow. When he corked the bottle and put it aside, I said,

"I need a shield. A buckler will work, but a tower shield would be better. I'll borrow it if I can, buy it if I must."

He rubbed a shovel-sized hand over his chin and considered me.

"When ye came in last night, I wasna sure if ye were living or dead. But yon sweet girl seems to set store by yerself. Ye know yer way with armor. And ye don't demand- ye ask honest, like a man."

He paused for another drink and gave me a searching look.

"And if I was to ask for how long ye might need this shield, and for what reason- would ye answer true?"

"For as long as it takes to put paid to Erich the Unworthy," I replied steadily.

Short and to the point. People always say that I pack a lot into a few words, but you certainly do it here. Showing is 'Thyna's favor, and how important it is to Athlain really tells us quite a bit about both of them in a very subtle manner.

I also liked the interaction with the smith. That last line was hard as steel.

I'm with you Rumpleteasza!


@ Treydog - your depiction of the smithy was as perfect as it gets! I could picture the man as I read - and the "shovel-sized hand" - what a touch that was!

:read: This was so... treydog!

The descriptions were perfect. I was right in the middle of everything from mingled tears on a pillow to what's for breakfast and armored greaves. Your choices on what detail to provide are perfect.

I agree totally with the comments of SubRosa and mALX above.

Your ability to gently but powerfully understate feelings with a perfect touch continues to amaze me.

You have made my day treydog. Once again, your writing is pure joy to read and provides an inspirational example.

"That last line was as hard as Steel" - bravo, Rosa!!! :clap:

Yes, Trey Ole Dawg, you've got a real woof on at last on your hero.

This makes him grow in our eyes. Still the semi-boy, but more and more we can see the mature man growing from the boy's bones, and in a way and form that all of us readers, male and female, can but nod and approve!

Keep it up, my ole friend and dawg!!! Three woofs for you!!!

Brynjolfr gave an explosive snort at my words, and then stood and went into the area of the smithy that served as storage. His voice drifted out to me:

"Well, ye aren't shy; I'll say that much. And how does yer young lady feel about this?"

I shrugged and then, realizing he could not see me, spoke:

"Actually, I hope to take care of it before she gets back."

Honesty compelled me to add:

"She'll probably be upset with me- she wants to kill him herself. But then, she's already angry with me, and rightly so?."

I trailed off as the smith clumped back to the front of the building, carrying assorted bits and pieces of armor. He dumped the pile in front of me and gestured for me to stand up.

"Ye'll need more nor a shield if yer goin' to fight that bloody-handed spawn of a snow-demon. So we'd best be about it."

As he began measuring me and fitting various bits of hide armor, he continued:

"I know it isna what yer used to, but ye will be able to move well in it- and ye'll have need to be quick."

He shook his head with a wry smile and added:

"I canna see how ye soldier-fellas manage to take a single step in the steel corsets ye wear."

"Why do you think I'm a soldier?"

The smith just grinned at me and said, "It's the way ye move, don't ye see? And the way ye stand. If I had to guess, I would say ye was trained at one of the out forts, not back on the mainland."

The fitting and adjustment of the armor took over an hour, but at the end of that time I had a complete outfit made of wolf hide, which fit me like a second skin, along with a heavy Nordic mail shield. Brynjoflr pronounced himself satisfied and held up a hand to stop me when I mentioned payment.

"Nay, young fella. Yer little girl has brought in enough hides to more than make up the cost- and beside that, I figger to get that fur suit back one way or another. If Erich kills ye, then I can just patch up the holes good as new. If not, I reckon ye'll give it back yerself. I seem to recall hearin' summat of how ye don't much care for the wearin' of animal hides."

He winked at me and then laughed uproariously as I blushed scarlet. Apparently, my fight with Athynae had been a major subject of conversation around the mead hall. And she did have a rather? carrying? voice, especially when she was annoyed. The smith's face grew grim and he said in serious tones,

"Be ye careful of that Erich. He's a black-hearted, foul-minded creature, but he's dangerous for all that. He'll want to hurt ye before he kills ye, if he can. So here's what ye'll need ta do?."

I listened carefully, knowing that my very life depended on how well I learned this lesson. And I feared that Athynae's life might depend upon it, too.

But when I returned to the mead hall, she still had not arrived, and I was disappointed- and relieved. I spent the next few hours practicing with my new armor and resting. And I needed the rest. During the time I had spent in a skooma-haze, my physical condition had deteriorated alarmingly, and it was mainly due to Athynae's spells and potions that I had made it to Thirsk at all. Though it shamed me to do so, I went back to Brynjolfr and asked for his help again. When I had explained my situation, the smith nodded thoughtfully and dug out a large leather pack.

"Take this down to the lake and fill it wi' stones- all the way to the top, mind. Then run it back up here to the forge. When ye have done that five or six times, we'll see about a little sparring."

The long afternoon was an agony, but I kept before me the memory of Mirisa's bruised face and haunted eyes- and the thought that it might have been Athynae who was so abused. Despite Svenja and Skjoldr's acceptance of her, the Nords and the Dunmer had a long history of conflict, and Athynae had been more fortunate than she knew. The training routine was also reminiscent of my early days at Fort Darius, under Senior Trooper Carbo's watchful eye. And so I gave myself up to the rhythm of my feet pounding a path in the snow and the rocks bouncing against my back. And every time I reached the forge, the smith was waiting, ready to "spar" with me. At least, that was what he called it- to me, it seemed more like being whacked repeatedly with a practice sword. Brynjolfr kept me at it until I could no longer see my hand in front of my face and I was staggering from fatigue. He then pointed me toward the sauna, where the steam did its work on my bruised, trembling muscles. I slept again in Athynae's empty bed, where my only dreams were of endless hills, every one occupied by a bellicose Nord who chased me with a piece of firewood. And so passed the following day- and the next.

Still, Athynae did not return, and I began to worry in earnest. I considered leaving Thirsk and making sure she had arrived at Fort Frostmoth. But I had told her I would wait for her- and I still had my reasons to avoid putting in an appearance at the post I had frankly deserted. The good news was that Erich had also not returned, and I chose not to dwell on the coincidence. The better news was that my return to fitness progressed quickly, to the point that even Brynjolfr grudgingly admitted that there might be something to Legion training after all. By the morning of the fourth day since Athynae had left, the smith pronounced me ready, although his exact words were less than glowing:

"Aye well, it seems that anow, ye'll at least not trip on yer own feet and spit yerself on Erich's sword. He mayhap will have to work a bit afore he carves out yer liver and lights."

He smiled as he said it, though, and I grinned back. Feeling like a warrior again for the first time in weeks, I entered the mead hall, torn between my desire to see Athynae and my hope that she still had not returned. In the event, the hope was answered- she had not come back to Thirsk- but someone else had. When I entered the hall, all eyes seemed to turn toward me and then to the steps leading up to the guest quarters. From that direction, I could hear things being tossed about and a voice shouting curses and threats. As I came further into the hall, the gathered Skaal moved away from me, leaving an open space. And still, they did not speak. I looked to where Skjoldr sat upon his throne, hoping for some sign, but he simply returned my look with a troubled gaze and a shrug of his massive shoulders. Meanwhile, the shouting from overhead had ceased, and I heard footsteps crossing the gallery and descending the stairs. I drew several deep breaths and made sure of my footing, then stood still. The man who appeared on the stairs was everything I had feared- he was large, he was angry, and he had a murderous scowl on his face. His attire was a mixture of wolf and bear hides, including a helmet made from the head of a brown bear. The effect was as if two faces were snarling at me- one human and one animal. Bear-claws decorated his cuirass, tokens of successful hunts. The one surprise was that, instead of the expected hammer or axe, he carried a silver longsword. All of this I observed as I maintained the slightly unfocused gaze Carbo had taught me, looking at everything and nothing, all at the same time. Erich glared around the hall, and his bloodshot eyes finally fixed on me. Lip curling in a sneer he demanded,

"And are ye the pox-ridden w----son thief who has no respect for the property of others?"

I flinched at the word "thief;" I could not help it. Father's sensitivity on that subject had carried over to me. But then I grew still again and answered quietly and contemptuously.

"And are you the sorry excuse for a man, Erich, rightly named 'the Unworthy,' who makes war on women? As to theft, I vow before all here that I never touched nor took anything that belongs to you."

Although there was much more I wanted to say, I clamped my teeth shut on the torrent of insults and abuse I longed to hurl at him. There was a form to these things, and I must observe it scrupulously. I had to count on my enemy to make the mistakes. Fortunately, Erich did not disappoint me:

"Again, I name ye thief and rogue. I call upon my clan-brothers and sisters to aid me as I defend my right to what is mine."

So saying, he drew his sword and looked at the assembled hunters. I glanced around as well- for I was uncertain as to how the Skaal would react. Long seconds stretched out, and then all of the Nords, including their chief, carefully moved their hands away from their weapons, folded their arms, and looked impassively back at the raging hunter.

I let out a slow breath, relieved that they had decided that this dispute was between the two of us, and was not clan business. Erich, on the other hand, was driven into still greater fury at their refusal to help him. Bright red spots bloomed on his cheeks as he screamed,

"Cowards!"

And then he was charging across the hall, his sword held out to the side, poised for a scything blow.

Wow, this was great!

The dialect enriched interchanges between Brynjolfr and Athlain were totally immersive.

Your descriptions were perfect, as always - both in your choice of what and how to describe.

Athlain's simultaineous wishing and fearing for Athynae's return was beautifully presented.

Everything moved at what seemed to this reader to be a perfect pace.

The scene with Erich was fabulous, but therin lies my only complaint -- I didn't want the story to end!!!!

Oh treydog, your cliffhanging borders on cruelty! Now I shall worry about poor Athlain being charged by a Nordic mountain until your next story.

Truly another joy to read, full of lessons.

Yippiee!!!

Very dramatic, my only complaint is the same as Acadian's. I want to see blood!

BRING IT ON Trey ole doggie!!!

Let's see some action!!! LET"S SEE BAAAAAAATTTTTTLEEE!!!!!!!!

I'm hanging on the edge of my seat! The whole chapter is great of course, but that last segment - WHEW! It ROCK'D !!

As the enraged hunter raced toward me, I tightened my grip on the straps of my shield and crouched slightly. It was hard to stand in place- instinct screamed at me to run, to move- either away from Erich or toward him- it did not matter which, so long as I did something. But instinct was wrong. If I moved, I would have to concentrate on my footing, on the locations of people and objects in the hall, on a myriad of things other than controlling my breathing and watching Erich's eyes. I held my mace low and close to my side, and it seemed as if I had all the time in the world- time to see how the firelight reflected on the edge of the silver blade that was poised to spill my blood, time to be grateful that Athynae was somewhere safe, time to regret the fact that I had still not really told her how much I loved her?. And then the sword began to swing in a deadly arc and the time for thought was past.

As he swung I saw Erich turn his wrist, so it was that the flat, rather than the edge of the sword that he aimed at the outside of my left knee. I recalled Brynjolfr's warning, and knew it to be true- "He'll want to hurt ye if he can?." I twitched my shield down slightly, blocking the sword, which rang like a great bell. The force of the blow caused me to stagger a bit, but it also gave the Nord a painful shiver, and I saw him wince as the energy of clashing metal was transferred up his arm. He recovered and stepped back, wanting to gain distance and space in which to use his longer reach. I could not afford to allow him that space, nor could I hope to win a drawn-out duel. Therefore, holding my shield high, I stepped after him, pressing him back, trying to prevent him from getting set. He feinted a thrust at my eyes and I pulled my head to the side. The break gave Erich a chance to position his feet and he drew back in preparation for another swing. Again, I crouched, watching his eyes and the angle of his shoulder to gauge his target. Fortunately, I guessed right, and before he could strike at my head, I thrust upward with my legs, putting all their power behind my shield and slamming it into his face. I distinctly heard the crunch as his nose broke, and I followed with a quick thrust of my mace to his ribs. But Erich was no stranger to close-quarters fighting- he grabbed my right wrist with his free hand and brought the pommel of his sword down in a numbing blow to my left shoulder. I twisted free of his grip and we broke apart, staring at each other and waiting for the next steps in this mortal dance. Blood dripped from the Nord's broken nose and flattened lips, and hatred gleamed in his eyes.

Above our labored breathing came the voice of Skjoldr, Chieftain of Thirsk:

"Blows have been exchanged and blood has been shed. Will you call truce and agree that honor is satisfied? Athlain? How say you?"

Never taking my eyes from Erich's face, I replied: "I have drawn first blood and am willing to hold my honor avenged."

Skjoldr spoke again: "Erich, what say you? Will you admit your fault and end this fight?"

Erich spat a glob of blood on the floor and wheezed, "I will end the fight when I see this thief dead upon the ground. I will break his bones and unstring his limbs. I will?"

Skjoldr interrupted, "Enough. You can make your boasts after the fight is done- if you are still able. Very well. To the death or until either man yields."

The last phrase was a hollow formality- Erich would never yield- and if I did, he would kill me anyway. The dishonor would mean little to him and even less to me, as I would be dead.

The hunter's blue eyes pierced me and he opened his ruined mouth in a horrible grin. "I will flay your hide and nail it to the wall," he grated.

I did not respond, but chewed on the marshmerrow I had put in my mouth when I heard the commotion upstairs. It was not as effective as a potion, but I could feel the pain in my shoulder easing as the juice trickled down my throat. What I planned was going to be difficult- I wanted to trap a man who had spent his life stalking and killing some of the most cunning animals in the world. I let my shield drop just a fraction, and then hitched it back up, as if feeling the weight. And I let my eyes flicker, as if seeking some form of cover. I wanted to look weak and doubtful- and I succeeded. Even though I had thought I was ready, Erich's attack was almost too fast for the eye to follow. Rather than using the broad swings he had previously attempted, he lunged, driving the point of his sword straight for my right leg, away from my shield side. I moved just enough so that the tip struck the outside of my leg rather than the inside, where the great artery lay. Struck- and penetrated. It felt as though someone had pressed a hot coal against my thigh and held it there. But that was what I had wanted. I turned to my left to trap the blade against the plates of my greaves and swung my mace with the same motion, slamming it into Erich's elbow. He lost his grip on the hilt of the sword, and I whipped the mace upward, smashing it into his unprotected chin. As he staggered back, I set myself and swung with all my strength at the side of his head. The Nord fell silently, sliding down to lie in a shapeless heap, looking suddenly much smaller than the monster I had confronted seconds before.

I dropped my mace and pulled the sword from my leg with a gasp. I could feel blood running down inside my greaves and pooling in my boot. Weakness washed over me, and I went to my knees. As my vision blurred, I fumbled a potion from my belt pouch and hastily drained the contents. The pain in my leg settled to a dull ache, and I was at last able to look to where Skjoldr sat. The chieftain stood and gestured to some of the other Skaal, saying,

"Carry the body outside and put it in the storeroom. We will lay him in the barrow and do the rites at sunrise. Erich was an uneasy companion, but he was also our clan-brother."

He sat back down on his intricately-carved throne and looked at me over steepled fingers. I forced myself to my feet, silently preparing to face Skjoldr's judgment. And now it comes, I thought. I had violated guest-right and killed a hunter of the clan. If I was fortunate, their leader would simply withdraw his hospitality and banish me. Or? he was effectively the sole ruler of this domain. The loss of a hunter could mean hardship or even death for some of his people. He could do with me as he wished. He lowered his hands to the armrests of the throne and spoke. Though his voice was quiet, it carried throughout the hall.

"Athlain Treyson, you have shed the blood and taken the life of a hunter of the Skaal."

He paused and then continued, "Hear now my judgment. You were challenged and you defended yourself in a trial of arms, as is the right of any man. By killing Erich, you removed a stain from the honor of the Clan. Whatever he once possessed is now yours by right and custom. How say you?"

I managed not to gape in surprise- this was not an outcome I had foreseen. But Skjoldr was waiting for my response, so I cleared my throat and answered firmly:

"Let Erich's arms and armor be interred with him, so that the evil he did is forever finished. Let his other possessions be divided amongst the Skaal, to each according to their need."

I winced as my leg reminded me of my recent wound, and I added,

"As for me, I have had all from him that I want."

That got a laugh and then Skjoldr nodded his approval and clapped his hands once. "So shall it be! The victor has spoken. Now let's celebrate."

Cheers rang around the hall and someone pressed a drink into my hands. Blood loss had made me thirsty enough that I did not care what was in the tankard- I swallowed half of it in a gulp. A gentle hand tapped me on the shoulder and I turned to see Athynae looking at me with a mixture of amusemant, concern, and? something I could not decipher. She smiled and said,

"I leave for a few days, and you turn into a brawling, drunken, animal-hide wearing?."

That was as far as she got before I crushed her to my chest in a hug that set off another round of cheers from the assembled Skaal. They could make all the jokes they wanted at my expense- it would be worth it. When I released Athynae at last, she caught her breath and stepped back a little. I looked at her and then looked again and blurted,

"What in the name of the Nine happened to your hair?"

This kept me rapt from the second I opened it!! Awesome!!!!! - my favorite line:

You really know how how to create suspense. More!

Treydog, I've only gotten to Chapter 3 so far, but...this is awesome!!
There are not many first person stories that I particularly like, but this is one of them. Excellent job -- I look forward to reading more!

Wow! Suspense fulfilled.

The fight was spectacularly gritty. :toughninja: I am exhausted and my leg aches from the wound. Your versatility is amazing.

Thank you for lavishing some attention to the post-fight Nordic customs and ambiance - it was magical to witness.

The tap on Athlain's shoulder from Athynae was a complete surprise, and produced a grin from this doggie fan.

Blood, honor, tradition, even a hug! The only thing more I could ask for is the next story.

Magnificent, treydog!!!!