@chooserofslain || plotted.
The horn sounds, echoing across the water and the now-deserted settlement nestled on its bank. The silence of death falls, as it always does, after a battle that claims lives both their own and the Other’s. Eivor’s chest heaves as she yells Back to the ship!, a command known even to the youngest Jomsviking on her crew.
Blood drips from her chin, some of her own, and some from a poor bastard who thought that fighting her alone would prove to be fruitful. It was not. “Carry the wounded! Burn everything else!” Voice is hoarse and limbs heavy, yet adrenaline pushes her forward as they haul the supplies down to the river from the burning longhouse and huts surrounding it. Many a soul would leave for Valhalla tonight, she thinks, turning the dead to face the sky - the clan that deigned to attack her own just the week before. Eivor blamed them not, they all did what they were supposed to in order to survive.
As the last of her Jomsvikingr go back to the boat to grab a bite to eat and sing the song of victory, she walks among the corpses of the slain warriors and sits down to catch a breath. It is a silent celebration that she appreciates the most and the rest of her crew knows it, so no one calls for her until she decides to leave there herself. There’s wind - pleasant to her sweaty brow and bloodied knuckles and her eyes close until there’s a thundering sound of hooves behind.
Fingers find the hilt of her father’s axe at once as she turns around, only to stop in her tracks at what she sees. Many of them, coming her way on winged horses and spears in their hands. The mere sight of them makes Eivor second guess whether all this is a dream, caused by one of Valka’s elixirs.
“This cannot be.” She says the words aloud, brows furrowing in quiet astonishment. Valkyries, in front of her, as real as any of her men and women sitting by the longship not too far away from where she stands. “Is this a trick?”
