My England

ᚦᛖ᛫ᛚᛖᚷᚨᚲᚢ᛫ᛟᚠ᛫ᚦᛖ᛫ᛗᛟᚦᛖᚱ᛫ᛟᚠ᛫ ᛇᚦᚨᛁᚾᛞᛖᛚ

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Siftrethörn slammed the cabin door open with the force of his own body weight and stumbled into the room with rage burning behind his eyes desperate to get to his son only to find him nowhere but Högga got on the scent of her son quickly and chased off after it down to the cellar only to be bombarded with the thick and stinging smell of smoke, Siftrethörn followed after her and he too felt her fear at the sight.

He screamed out to his son praying to as many gods as he could name at once for the boy to answer as he ran in head first with the she-wolf at his side through the flames.

“ÆTHAINDEL I’M COMING!”   

  

He couldn’t see well at through the smoke and as he ran and tried to catch his breath he suddenly cried out in pain as he felt a sharp pain shoot up his leg from the base of his foot causing him to fall to his knees where more pain struck his legs and with great effort he blinked the smoke out of his eyes to see then he had ran right into a pile of shattered glass and pottery but he quickly got up despite his pain and did his best to move the glass so that Högga could better get passed and find their son.

Högga ran deep into the cellar howling and yelping, calling to her baby until she heard him cry from under a heavy wooden beam and she pulled him out then started to lick his wounds clean for a little until he hugged her and cried into her fur only for the both of them to be struck again with fear at the sound of someone approaching, to which Högga growled and bared her teeth until it was revealed to be Siftrethörn supported on the shoulder of king Håldr.

Siftrethörn despite Håldr’s protests ran to his son again and hugged him tightly as he kissed the child’s face and Håldr was too happy to see that the child was safe but he knew his son had to take the child and run before the fire spread throughout the rest of the ship.

“Son! We must go!”

Siftrethörn tried to stand but his legs were bleeding and marred to the point where he could barely stand so he king knelt down to help but as he did so he stopped and turned around in time to see the she-wolf growling at Sweyan who stood before them with his sword drawn and anger in his left eye and only his left for the right side of his face had been disfigured until the fleshy muscles of his face and bare jaw bone were almost all that was left leaving nothing but a bloody and black hole where his eye had once been and two bloody swollen lumps at the sides of his head where his ears once where.

The king knew that the man had been ready to kill before for money but he could now tell that the man was now instead ready to kill for revenge.

He turned back to his son who was holding his own child to his breast as he tried to stand with no success and the man knew there was no way of helping Siftrethörn and getting past Sweyan at once but Högga knew all this and with a goodbye to her son she did what she had to do.

“NO NANNA!”  her son cried through coughs but she only looked into Siftrethörn’s eyes hoping for him to understand what she was doing and he reluctantly did.

Without much warning, Högga pounced onto the Viking and bite into his throat and shoulder as she yelped in pain whenever he pulled her fur and stabbed her with his knife.

The king used her distraction to help his son back to his feet and get to the stairs but just as they got that far Æthaindel saw as his mother was pierced through the ribs and tossed to the ground.

His whole world went black and there was nothing left in his sights other than the image of his mother barely breathing and soaked in blood but that blackness was nothing compared to the blackness he felt in his heart.

It was like the fire of anger that he had felt but it burned much darker and much deeper, it ate away at every part of him until he felt it in his voice and in his bones and it seemed to erupt out from his very soul as he found himself shooting out of his father’s arms and to the Viking who was kneeling with a hand to the side of his bloodied neck where he had been bitten and with a swift leap Æthaindel landed on the large man knocking him over with shock.

Sweyan had dropped his sword and so he tried to pull the boy off but Æthaindel only grabbed onto his skinned jaw and pulled the marred and burnt flesh until the man started holding his face in pain and in this moment a glimpse of blue light clouded over his eyes and as if looking into a reflection in a pool of water he saw himself Sweyan’s own sword to stab him in the throat dead center then the blue vision faded and with as much strength as he could he did just as he saw in his vision.

He lost all his breath as he thrust the sword down and was almost thrown off by the men’s strong hands that grew weak and fell to the floor as the blood burst out and painted the two of them crimson.

Æthaindel dropped the sword and fell back onto the floor where bumped his little head but he got up quickly and rushed to his mother’s side where he hugged her tightly.

His astonished father and grandfather were soon at his side but they could not stay here like this for the fire was growing.

Æthaindel begged his mother to get up so they could get away.

“Nanna! Why can’t you get up Nanna?”

He tried shaking her face slightly but she only licked his face.

“Come on Nanna we have to go now!”

She touched her nose to his and told him that she loved him in fact he was one of her favorite puppies and that she would not be coming home with him for she was going to Annwfyn and at this Æthaindel cried and begged her to live but she licked him again and told him to cut off her fur when she died and wear is upon his head and shoulders so that part of her Anam would always stay with him so that they would never truly be apart and she could protect him always.

She made him promise and so he promised her then with a few more deep breaths she closed her eyes and passed away as her little Æthaindel held her and swept into her soft fur while her warmth faded away never to be felt by him again.

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Notes: I'm now sad😭
Annwfyn Is the ancient welsh word for the Celtic afterlife.
Anam is one of the ancient welsh words for the soul.