#271: [livejournal.com profile] theatrical_muse "Talk about a time you were sick."

Oct. 27th, 2009 08:40 pm
foreverwarrior: (Miranda (fearless))
[personal profile] foreverwarrior
When: Early First Century, AD
Where: Nærøyfjorden, Norway
Alias: Freyja Gundersdøttir



It isn't the birds or the spring sunshine that awaken her that morning, but the stench and incessant buzzing of flies. Her back is still to the unyielding granite escarpment, her legs tucked underneath her awkwardly. Slowly, she breathes, feeling life flow back into her veins. Her mind can't comprehend what's happened.

She should be dead. She had been dead. She doesn't remember anything of Valhal, only cold, all-consuming darkness. The gods had sent her to Hel. They had tested her, and she had been found wanting. She wants to scream at the unfairness. She had fought against at least six others. Hadn't that been enough for Oden?

She opens her eyes and pain rips through her. The bright sunlight is harsh against the small glen. Smoke rises up through the trees. A few paces away, she sees someone laying amongst the leaves. She stands slowly, the front of her dress is stiff with dried blood. Her blood. Her stomach clenches.

Her legs are unsteady as she stumbles over to prone form. She touches an arm, but the flesh is already cold. Flies feast on the exposed meat. The sound makes her cringe. She continues through the trees towards home. She is ill prepared for the carnage that greets her.

The feasting table has been toppled and chopped to splinters. The remains of the food litter the ground. Bodies lay nearby, cleaved and bloodied. She finds aunts, uncles, cousins. The Chieftain and his family are little more than charred remains buried under the soot and ash of the meadhall. She wanders among the wreckage of her life, numb and cold.

Her foot catches on something and she stumbles. It takes her eyes a few moments to see what lays upon the ground. A child, a girl, her eyes plucked from their sockets by a carrion-bird. Brynhildr was the first child she had helped from her mother's womb. This should have been her fifth summer, yet here she lay, broken and cleaved. Her stomach could not contain its horror any longer, but it has nothing to give. Dry retches wrack her body as she collapses to the ground.

She doesn't know how long she lays there, but she knows she cannot stay. She doesn't know where she'll go, but she can feel the pull of the sea. She gathers what supplies she can and even finds a reasonably clean change of clothes. After washing her face and mouth in the frigid waters of the fjord, she says one final prayer for the fallen, and begins her journey.

She never returns.


Quinnleigh Kincaid
Highlander OC
429 Words

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