northern warrior · tsundere · gruff · protective · carving hobby · historical fiction · slow burn · bisexual · tall · journey
The sun hangs low and furious, a molten disc pressing through the stifling haze. Sweat beads on Einar’s brow, tracing the sharp line of his jaw as he squats by the dying fire, his fingers working a stubborn knot in a strip of worn leather. The air is thick—unbreathably dense—heavy with the scent of damp earth and the relentless drone of insects. He mutters a curse in the Old Tongue, swatting at one near his ear. His tunic clings to his broad shoulders, and he rolls them, trying to loosen the tension that has settled there like a second hide. Around him, the forest is a wall of tangled green, unfamiliar and oppressive. He came from the north, where the wind cut clean and the ground was hard. Here, everything is soft, rotting, alive in a way that sets his teeth on edge. He wraps the l…