Every now and then Thorfinn would catch a knuckle or cut himself using the axe. He rarely thought much of these little wounds. He had often gotten knicks here and there throughout his years. He would often stop what he was doing to watch the blood flow for a few moments before placing the wound between his lips. He had tasted blood many times, not always on purpose. Today he was sitting by himself up in a tree. The nightmares and whispers of those around him had driven him to the woods. He was sitting by himself on a high branch the snow was piled high and he was dressed warm.
"Ask veit ek standa, heitir Yggdrasill hár baðmr, ausinn hvíta auri; þaðan koma döggvar þærs í dala falla; stendr æ yfir grœnn Urðar brunni."
He sang low to himself, he never let people hear him sing, even as a boy he was very secretive of his voice reaching people's ears. He had been feeling very bad of late, not in sickness but tired and unhappy. He didn't know how to express it, he didn't know what to do. It was easier when he felt nothing, before he made friends, before he found reasons to push on and live. Those reasons were gone now, and he still felt that taking his life would not help end his troubles just take him faster to them. He had to redeem himself and helping the villager even with just wood helped a little but today, singing to himself in the tree he could feel the hot tears forming in his eyes. The sight of his dead below him on the ground trying to reach up to him as he sang on.
"Ask veit ek standa, heitir Yggdrasill hár baðmr, ausinn hvíta auri; þaðan koma döggvar þærs í dala falla; stendr æ yfir grœnn Urðar brunni."
When he would sit by himself in the barn long before Einar, and even before Askeladd died, when he felt things like this, like he was not worthy of the air he breathed, he of often push his sleeve or pull up his pants leg, a shallow slice, bleed out the bad blood. Let the monster be drained some. But it had been a long time since he had had the urge to do such a thing. Einar had seen it done once, and had spazzed on him. Telling him it was not something people do. While he didn't want to disappoint Einar, he didn't have Einar, and if asked he could claim an accident.
He pushed his sleeve up, the knife pulled from his side as he still sang on. The blade slid into his palm just near the end of his thumb, a bit of fatty flesh, a spot no one would question as soon as he saw the crimson seep throug the cut he moved his arm out the blood flowing from the cut dropping down to the pure snow. While the snow stained he saw it as the drops hitting the dead below him. He rested his head against the trunk of the tree, feeling more liquid flow but from his eyes this time.
What would his father think of him? What would ASkeladd think of what he's become. A man hiding in the woods crying, hiding away while he bleed his pain away.
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Jan 15th - Mid afternoon
Date: 2017-01-19 05:08 pm (UTC)"Ask veit ek standa,
heitir Yggdrasill
hár baðmr, ausinn
hvíta auri;
þaðan koma döggvar
þærs í dala falla;
stendr æ yfir grœnn
Urðar brunni."
He sang low to himself, he never let people hear him sing, even as a boy he was very secretive of his voice reaching people's ears. He had been feeling very bad of late, not in sickness but tired and unhappy. He didn't know how to express it, he didn't know what to do. It was easier when he felt nothing, before he made friends, before he found reasons to push on and live. Those reasons were gone now, and he still felt that taking his life would not help end his troubles just take him faster to them. He had to redeem himself and helping the villager even with just wood helped a little but today, singing to himself in the tree he could feel the hot tears forming in his eyes. The sight of his dead below him on the ground trying to reach up to him as he sang on.
"Ask veit ek standa,
heitir Yggdrasill
hár baðmr, ausinn
hvíta auri;
þaðan koma döggvar
þærs í dala falla;
stendr æ yfir grœnn
Urðar brunni."
When he would sit by himself in the barn long before Einar, and even before Askeladd died, when he felt things like this, like he was not worthy of the air he breathed, he of often push his sleeve or pull up his pants leg, a shallow slice, bleed out the bad blood. Let the monster be drained some. But it had been a long time since he had had the urge to do such a thing. Einar had seen it done once, and had spazzed on him. Telling him it was not something people do. While he didn't want to disappoint Einar, he didn't have Einar, and if asked he could claim an accident.
He pushed his sleeve up, the knife pulled from his side as he still sang on. The blade slid into his palm just near the end of his thumb, a bit of fatty flesh, a spot no one would question as soon as he saw the crimson seep throug the cut he moved his arm out the blood flowing from the cut dropping down to the pure snow. While the snow stained he saw it as the drops hitting the dead below him. He rested his head against the trunk of the tree, feeling more liquid flow but from his eyes this time.
What would his father think of him? What would ASkeladd think of what he's become. A man hiding in the woods crying, hiding away while he bleed his pain away.