All those little things had died in him over the years between meeting her in the strange other world and his time enslaved on the Ketil Farm, he had found a means of real feelings outside of of his bravado. The things he used to be so proud of were now a great shame to him.
He didn't mind the silence, though he did miss the constant chatter of his sworn brother. Thorfinn never really had to talk much with Einar, the other man would fill the air with his own endless words and stories and knowledge. Even the boy she knew had been a quiet creature, just not around her. She reminded him of the sister he missed so much. She got to see him in spirits others never would have back then. He was more himself in that moment whittling away than he had been bragging about his old exploits.
He never enjoyed the fighting. He did it for his honor.
Now he didn't have to. He'd never hurt another human being if he had the choice.
When she nudged him he looked up, those brown eyes still so different with their strange soulful light. It had started forming in the boy after the rains, but it had changed over the years.
He didn't know the English word, but he sat the knife aside and he held up the half carved handle. "sól áttavita" The words were spoken since he didn't know the English. He pushed up out of the chair and moved to her map motioning her over. Taking up a bit of charcoal and drawing a simple little cross. He pointed to north. "norður" then South, East and West followed as he held up the wood. pointing to the cross then the ceiling. "sól áttavita"
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He didn't mind the silence, though he did miss the constant chatter of his sworn brother. Thorfinn never really had to talk much with Einar, the other man would fill the air with his own endless words and stories and knowledge. Even the boy she knew had been a quiet creature, just not around her. She reminded him of the sister he missed so much. She got to see him in spirits others never would have back then. He was more himself in that moment whittling away than he had been bragging about his old exploits.
He never enjoyed the fighting. He did it for his honor.
Now he didn't have to. He'd never hurt another human being if he had the choice.
When she nudged him he looked up, those brown eyes still so different with their strange soulful light. It had started forming in the boy after the rains, but it had changed over the years.
He didn't know the English word, but he sat the knife aside and he held up the half carved handle. "sól áttavita" The words were spoken since he didn't know the English. He pushed up out of the chair and moved to her map motioning her over. Taking up a bit of charcoal and drawing a simple little cross. He pointed to north. "norður" then South, East and West followed as he held up the wood. pointing to the cross then the ceiling. "sól áttavita"