Are
He would've jumped, should've jumped. Yet Are remained perfectly still, shield in hand, poised to meet any aggression with an equal measure of force. At least he could've probably done exactly that, if he kept telling himself that. Stoic sounded so much better than frozen in place. As the moment of raised spears and shattered shields drew closer yet he found some sort of strange resolve awoken in his gut. A drip if icy heat that had him just as he'd practiced, low and guarded, yet light and fast. Unlike a wolf showing it's teeth, there was no scowl, no posturing or prancing about. Only the resignation that a day might've finally come, the day.
An eternity, a single moment containing the result of a lifetime of choices. All boiling down to that day just like any other. A day where a cobbler's fate was about to cross paths with a wolf.
An eternity came and went, and with it whatever lust for a proper bout he'd manage to muster. As the words broke the fragile silence and with it a lifetime of fate. He relaxed, not enough to put away his arms, but enough to lower his axe and stand tall. He knew that voice, or to be precise, he knew the kind. A night not long before he'd grown accustomed to the smug, predatory excellence. It even brought a sense of comfort, knowing he'd not stumbled upon someone as needing of a hand as himself, not that he'd admit that, not without introspection, and mead. Lots of it.
"Heill ok sæll, stranger." Are said, not whispering, but not shouting anymore. The words tasted hollow, spoken more out of habit than anything else, not that common courtesy could make it worse. Not like simple words would get him more lost. "I am Are, cobbler. And you? Don't recognize your face, nor voice."
An eternity, a single moment containing the result of a lifetime of choices. All boiling down to that day just like any other. A day where a cobbler's fate was about to cross paths with a wolf.
An eternity came and went, and with it whatever lust for a proper bout he'd manage to muster. As the words broke the fragile silence and with it a lifetime of fate. He relaxed, not enough to put away his arms, but enough to lower his axe and stand tall. He knew that voice, or to be precise, he knew the kind. A night not long before he'd grown accustomed to the smug, predatory excellence. It even brought a sense of comfort, knowing he'd not stumbled upon someone as needing of a hand as himself, not that he'd admit that, not without introspection, and mead. Lots of it.
"Heill ok sæll, stranger." Are said, not whispering, but not shouting anymore. The words tasted hollow, spoken more out of habit than anything else, not that common courtesy could make it worse. Not like simple words would get him more lost. "I am Are, cobbler. And you? Don't recognize your face, nor voice."
