My England

ᛗᛖᚱᚲᛃ᛫ᚨᚾᛞ᛫ᚱᛖᚷᚱᛖᛏᛋ

_

As Håldr sludged through the thick wet snow and pushed on through the fast stormy winds he couldn't help but feel sick and shaky in his gut like he was filled with a chilly blackness cutting into him like a blade through the heart but he knew it was not from the cold of the storm but rather from the weight that had grown so heavy in his arms and down on his heart.

He knew that this was his only choice but still as he looked down into the little boys' blue eyes filled with fear and innocence he understood why the child was so dear to his son.

He couldn't walk anymore he just couldn't, he knew what he had to do since the boy was going to die anyway and break his son's already bruised heart and so he harshly sat the boy down in the snow and held him by his long hair as he drew his dagger.

He rose the blade up high above him as he closed his eyes to try and drown out the little boy's cries but as he heard the boy cry out in a small broken voice for Siftrethörn.

"DÄ!"

He remembered the cries of his own son and daughter when they were that young and tender and how much he would do for them even die for them.

And as he tried once more to kill the boy to spare his son the grief of watching him die slowly he found himself remembering how he himself cried for his little girl when she was taken and he knew that his son would do the same.

He opened his eyes and threw the dagger as far as he could and let go of the boy.

"...It shalt be I who breaks my son!"

He fell to his knees and broke down in tears before the boy with his face torn in agony and regret.

"Oh, poor babe! Please forgive me for what I was to do!... To think I was to kill a baby! To kill my baby's baby!"

He fell over onto his side and prayed for repentance from Ēriófýtigg crying until he found it too hard to breathe and soon lost consciousness.