My England

ᛏᚱᛟᚢᛒᛚᛖ

But once more to their misfortune as they hazarded further downward the mountain scale the harsher the cold storms became and they soon found themselves huddling together under thick furs around the now parked ship kicking the heavy wet snow away with their now socked boots very now an again unable to move any closer to home.

The home their desperate hearts and broken bodies so mournful and brazenly yearned for as if their very souls called out to it by name with every wearied breath.

Yet they were stuck in the frozen mountain's stony halls a thwarted and dejected coadjute with grief for their now thrice failed mission to save the young princess and to some more vehemently under the circumstances of retreatment. 

Even the prince found himself unable to sleep and barely able to drink as he too found himself in a state of languishing lament for his dearest sister and his fellowship.

Truth be told that his son was the only reason for his life still remaining aflame in him conjointly filling his whole being with fear when he came to find that the goat, his child's main source of food had been killed by a lynx leaving his child with no milk.

He found himself bewailing now not only the fate of his sister but now in addition his own little boy's life for he knew of no village nor farm within miles that he could besiege for milk and that any of the spare rations that they had left mainly included things such as salted meats which would unquestionably make a child so small and young sick not to mention one so weak and already infirm.

So as he wept while snuggling the boy in fur deep in the small ice shelter he had built he prayed to the gods and chanted over runes that he carved in the stone under him pleading with the Gæianð of the forest spirit to send the boy mercy.

At all of this, the king found himself worried for the golden-haired prince of his and overwhelmed with guilt for knowing what he must do.