Are
How could one resume what had been lost to the waters? Lost for ages, or that was at least what the man told himself. It was easier to think of it all as lost, to think of the world that was once his as gone with the shifting tides was enough to placate any niggling doubt he might have had. At least for the moment. What was once lost had been found again, and at that very moment, his breath was all he cared about.
Coughing and heaving soon followed the first mouthful of fresh spring air. Brackish lake water, a taste of home, made it all come crashing into existence again. Images of a toppling boat under blackened skies and an oar etching the last impression forever into his mind. Her. He tried to yell her name, tried to call out for her. Nothing but coughing and a pathetic gurgling noise was all he could muster.
Stars, so many stars filled his vision and everything felt numb. Have I passed? He thought and tried sitting up, slowly, as the sound of rushing blood in his ears died down. The dry and broken ground under him was soaked, as was he, to the very bone. Yes, Hel. Warmer, though. He reasoned with himself, dead was good. An easy explanation and a good truth, enough to keep the worries from growing. The fact that the dead wasn’t supposed to feel pain took long enough to ignore, weak enough to push aside for more pressing matters, but germinate it did.
Dead, and alone. She is safe, she must be. Valhall, or Midgård, but alive. The thought was soothing enough for the moment, allowing Are to focus on more pressing matters. He was used to the ache, a body accustomed to the dull reminder of a hard day’s work. With a groan and a sigh he got up and brushed the worst mud of his tunic. In the distance there was fields, woods and a tower, the likes of which he had never seen before. “By the gods…” he whispered under his breath and spat out what little water remained in his mouth.
”Heill? Hello?” something had moved at the edge of his vision, brush pushed aside and let back again. Lingering worries vanished in the face of more pressing matters, even as dead he seemed keen on living. Frozen in place with a hand on his knife he waited, seemingly without breathing or blinking.
Coughing and heaving soon followed the first mouthful of fresh spring air. Brackish lake water, a taste of home, made it all come crashing into existence again. Images of a toppling boat under blackened skies and an oar etching the last impression forever into his mind. Her. He tried to yell her name, tried to call out for her. Nothing but coughing and a pathetic gurgling noise was all he could muster.
Stars, so many stars filled his vision and everything felt numb. Have I passed? He thought and tried sitting up, slowly, as the sound of rushing blood in his ears died down. The dry and broken ground under him was soaked, as was he, to the very bone. Yes, Hel. Warmer, though. He reasoned with himself, dead was good. An easy explanation and a good truth, enough to keep the worries from growing. The fact that the dead wasn’t supposed to feel pain took long enough to ignore, weak enough to push aside for more pressing matters, but germinate it did.
Dead, and alone. She is safe, she must be. Valhall, or Midgård, but alive. The thought was soothing enough for the moment, allowing Are to focus on more pressing matters. He was used to the ache, a body accustomed to the dull reminder of a hard day’s work. With a groan and a sigh he got up and brushed the worst mud of his tunic. In the distance there was fields, woods and a tower, the likes of which he had never seen before. “By the gods…” he whispered under his breath and spat out what little water remained in his mouth.
”Heill? Hello?” something had moved at the edge of his vision, brush pushed aside and let back again. Lingering worries vanished in the face of more pressing matters, even as dead he seemed keen on living. Frozen in place with a hand on his knife he waited, seemingly without breathing or blinking.
