The Verdant Prince

Chapter 21: Equals

I sighed as I laid back onto the sturdy cot. No blanket was needed for the warm fire blazing in the center kept me cozy as ever. It wasn't a few moments later before the rustle of beads clinking in the night that Asmund appeared a brown thin towel wrapped around his bottom half, leaving his torso exposed. He gave me a small wave before digging in his own knapsack and retrieving a black tunic. He gently slipped it on and put the knapsack further under his cot. In his hand, he held several small bands. Asmund glanced up at me, his whiskey-amber eyes flickering in the firelight curiously.

"How many do you want?" he asked. I shrugged. I knew the thin black bands were used to keep hair up and out of the way to battle and a new hairstyle would lessen the strain on my scalp.

"Only a few," I replied. In response, Asmund shot the bands one by one at me, through the hot fire smoke that rose out of the hut and into my lap. I muttered a quick thank you.

I braided both sides of my hair close to my head and tied it tightly back into a simple ponytail. Nothing more, nothing less, just enough to keep out of my face and out of the way during battle. It will stay in for long weeks and still remain honorable to Asgard's cultures and war traditions. Asmund does very similarly, but his ponytail is much shorter, rather a small bun on his head. His beard had thickened from his once neat scruff from the time before we left Asgard. He looked older, more tired.

Content with how the braids would hold, I laid back, folding my arms behind my head as I stared up at the barren thatched ceiling. Even though several bundles of hay were piled on, specks of the stars and many of the galaxy's lights shone through, casting small occasional white specks across the orange firelight. Outside a strange bird honked out its hoarse call. Water from the river below trickled gently, complimenting the soft crackles and pops coming from the fire pit in the center of the hut and there was peace. Finally, peace where I did not feel the need to sleep with my daggers armed in my hands and expect to be ambushed in the dark night.

"I wish we had more of... this," Asmund muttered from his cot. He too, had laid on his back, looking up at the thatched roof as if it held secrets. He closed his eyes and exhaled softly.

"More of what?" I asked quietly.

"Peace. Quiet. Calmness," Asmund replied. I sighed softly.

"I do as well, Asmund," I said. Asmund did not reply. I glanced over to my dark haired friend to see him staring gently up at the ceiling like before. His eyes were glassy and at that moment he was somewhere else. Somewhere away from the oncoming war we would have to face. Away from anything disturbing and loud. I wished I could say the same for myself.

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Blooma. Blood. Death.

I woke in a silent scream, my body bathed in fresh hot sweat that trickled down my back and forehead. My chest heaved deeply and every inch of my body felt raw and sore. The dream was vivid, and I did everything in my power to think of it. The three words echoed in my head- that was all I needed. Nothing more.

Looking over, the fire had died down, now only a soft flame with embers. Asmund slept on his side, his back facing me. I could not take this anymore, it felt as if the air was smokey and thick. Like I could not breathe without each thought retracing the events of my families deaths. I hopped down from the linen cot and dragged one of my daggers away from its leather sheath, clutching it tightly in my hand as I silently exited the hut.

The sky was as dark as Jotunheim could get, deep gray with soft lighter stars and very faint splashes of distant galaxies. It did not provide me with any comfort as I marched silently down to the riverside- the only thing I knew could draw me back at this moment.