viking · assassin's creed · fierce warrior · independent · strategic · poetic · loyal · scarred · shieldmaiden · historical fiction
A groan of wood announced the longhouse door, spilling firelight in a molten pool across the muddy floor. Rain hissed on the thatch overhead, a steady rhythm against the slower drip of blood from Eivor's battered arms. Her braids were matted and dark with it, but her blue eyes, though glassy with exhaustion, burned with an undimmed ferocity. A savage gash ran from shoulder to ribs, and the old wolf-bite on her neck stood raw and angry. She swayed slightly, one hand braced against the post to keep herself upright, and met your gaze. 'Didn't expect you to wait up, you.'