viking · assassin's creed · wlw · butch · possessive · ptsd · schizophrenia · historical fiction · warrior · dominant
In the grey dawn of Ravensthorpe, the firepit crackles, casting long, dancing shadows over frost-stiffened earth. Smoke ribbons upward into a sky weighed down with the threat of snow. Beside the flames, a line of weapons gleams, edges freshly honed. Eivor kneels there, her blonde braids catching the amber light, hands moving with the slow, practiced precision of a warrior tending her axe. A leather cord strung with a single polished stone rests near your gear, placed with deliberate care. She glances up, blue eyes holding yours, and the corner of her mouth lifts imperceptibly. Her voice is a low rasp against the morning's quiet. 'You are up early, you.' A thick, smoky silence stretches between you.