|Abel Parrish + Fenrir (devourer) wrote in paxletalelogs,|
@ 2017-06-19 11:18:00
|Entry tags:||fenrir, hel|
they fear not men in the woods
Who: Baby!Fenrir and Young!Hel.
What: Two babes in the woods play before everything goes to shit.
Where: Ye olde Norse places.
When: Ye olde Norse times.
His breath clouding in the air, Fenrir padded around a tree and hunched low, as low as his gangly puppy form could manage. It seemed like a good enough hiding spot, away from his sister's prying eyes, and hopefully one that she would not be able to find him in. The two, currently having wandered off from their parents for a quick, entertaining game, were occupying themselves with a game of hide and seek in the woods of Jötunheimr.
Small puppy paws made delicate prints that were soon quickly coated over by newfallen snow; temperatures were low, but his thick fur prevented him from growing cold. Instead, Fenrir tucked himself into a small ball, his tail neatly folding over his nose to keep it's moist surface from his icy surroundings, and waited to hear Hel counting aloud. He laughed a little to himself, pleased with his hiding place, sure of his prowess when it came to hiding himself away.
Hel stood just over the next knoll, hands covering eyes as she slowly counted loud enough for her brother to hear. “Sjautján... átján… nítján… tuttugu! Varist! Ég er að veiða!” She uncovered her eyes and looked around, blinking against the brightness of the snow. She groaned as she realized that the falling snow was covering up any tracks, and set off in a randomly chosen direction, her feet crunching through the old snow underneath.
The small wolf pup, with ears and paws too large for the rest of his gangly form, snickered quietly through the crisp winter air. The sound bounced, carrying over a long distance, surely heard by his sister. Still, he did not move, and the snow began to cover him; first, piling up around his sides, then around and over him like a small bridge over a very furry pond. None of it hurt or harmed him, and he struggled to not move a muscle; it was difficult, as he had too much energy, which made overly-large-and-yet-still-small feet sometimes kick through the thin shell of ice slowly being built around him by nature.
Her ears caught a ghost of the sound of laughter, though the trees and the snow made it difficult to pinpoint its origin. It seemed to be coming from almost directly behind her, naturally. Hel suppressed the urge to sigh, and pulled her cloak tighter around her shoulders. No child of the jötnar was ever truly bothered by the cold of their realm, but there were times where she thought it was entirely unfair that her brother carried his furs with him wherever he went. She turned and walked towards the direction of the sound, trailing the clouds from her breath in her wake.
Though the wolf pup could not see his sister, he could both smell and hear her with ease; it was a second sight, allowing him to easily know that she'd nearly come upon him, causing him to stifle what few giggles were left in his throat. And then she was past, and he could not allow the opportunity to slip by; his form uncurled with far less grace than a beast of nature should have had, and he fell into a stalking posture, hindquarters in the air while his front was low. A giggle escaped him, giving some small amount of warning before he leapt, but then he was airborne and on top of her.
Her head whipped around as she heard him giggle, and she shrieked with child-like glee as she scrambled to get away from him, but he was far too close. She fell to the ground, sending a cloud of new snow into the air.
"Aren't you supposed to be the one to find me?!" He could not help but laugh.
She laughed and reached up to hug him close to her. “Aren’t you supposed to stay hidden until I do?” she teased, ruffling his fur with one hand.
His eyes half-closed as his head pushed into her hand, too pleased with the petting to be upset that he was the one to blame for ruining their game.
"We could always play again, if you like," he started, his hindquarters coming down on the snow, his tail swishing back and forth to push the loosest of it away, creating a small cone impression in the white. He grinned a grin full of sharp, needle teeth, frightening and impressive even though they were still only baby teeth. "Though I think I'd be able to find you too easily."
Hel sat up and brushed snow off of her cloak and matched her brother’s grin, though her teeth were not nearly so impressive as his. “Probably,” she agreed. “But then, I am much bigger than you are.”
Fenrir's head canted. "A different game, then? Maybe something more fun." He thought for a moment, his head tossing back, his oversized ears flopping. Then he jumped up.
"I know!" He turned his head slightly, indicating back toward the hovel they shared with their brother and mother, and which held several items belonging to their father that they were very much not allowed to touch. Tail wagging excitedly, making his whole frame vibrate, he looked back to his sister. "First one to pick up laevateinn wins," he offered, excited not only by the prospect of a race, but also the illicit nature of the competition.
Hel’s eyes widened in shock. “Laevateinn? Papa’s sword? We can’t take that! We’ll get in trouble…” she thought about that, then brought up the trump card. “And if we’re in trouble Papa won’t tell us any stories about his travels!” Hel loved the stories that her father told about his blood-brother Odin and his kinfolk. Especially the stories of Baldr, the fairest of the Aesir.
Fenrir rolled his eyes, knowing well the true source of Hel's interest in their father's stories. True, he enjoyed a good yarn just as well, falling asleep in front of the fire as their father's voice soothed the unruly and unconventional children into a deep slumber, but he needed something to occupy him.
"And if we do this, mayhap they'll have a story to tell about us," he retorted, and then twisted the offer in a way he thought might appeal to her. "You know, it would make others take notice of us, and not in a bad way. I think Baldr likes women who can handle a sword. If he knows you're interested, perhaps he'd even teach you."
Hel blushed, though her already cold-reddened face hid the worst of it, and pulled her furs up to cover her cheeks and nose. She was mortified. He knew about her feelings for Baldr. And if even he could tell...then father almost certainly knew as well. She thought it had been her secret. What if he told Baldr? What if he had already told Baldr? Hel felt a shiver rush up her back, and in that moment she didn’t know whether she was thrilled or terrified of the prospect of Baldr knowing about her.
“It doesn’t matter what he likes…” she grumbled, her voice half-muffled by her furs. “Father will never let us meet his kinsfolk in Asgard.” Her lip slid into a sullen pout - her father’s tales were so filled with excitement that the thought of being left out of all the fun was nigh intolerable.
Fenrir leapt to his feet, pacing around his sister in a tight circle. "He will, if we give him reason! If we could convince him or them of our value, of what we can do, then there's no reason why we should be kept here." He slipped behind her again, putting his furry forehead against the small of her back and pushing her forward as if to physically coax her into doing his plan. Then he moved around her, jumping out in front again with his paws played wide, his mouth grinning while his tongue lolled in the cold winter air. His breath was a cloud, appearing and disappearing the moment it went far enough out from his mouth.
Hel giggled as her brother pushed at her back, and nodded in agreement. She stood up, brushing the accumulated snowflakes off of her long woolen skirt. Fenrir had convinced her - this was a chance to prove themselves to be quick and clever and sly, just like their father. She grinned at her brother, and took off at a run in the direction of their home, hoping to catch him off guard and thus gain the lead in their new game.
Her brother, sensing her excitement and hoping to not let it flag, allowed Hel her lead. He loped along behind, an easy pace that caused him no strife. Still, he did not want to make it look as though he were making it easy on her; coming up just behind, he nipped at the edges of her furs, driving her forward toward their agreed upon goal. Then he came up alongside her, his ears pressed to his head.
"Is that the fastest you can go? I think this will be easier than I thought..."
She yelped as he snapped playfully at her ankles. “Easy... for you... to say… brother…” she replied between heavy breaths as she tried to run faster. After all, he wasn’t wearing skirts. That wasn’t an excuse, exactly. At least, not one that her father would accept. After all, had not he and Thor fought off Thyrm and his karls in full bridal regalia, in order to retrieve the stolen Mjolnir? Was not fair Skadi the undisputed mistress of the winter hunt?
No, the skill could be learned, and she was certain she would learn it - no, would master it. She just...hadn’t quite managed the trick of it. Yet.
Fenrir kept his lope slow and careful, not wanting to kill the sport before it had barely begun. A few hillsides away, the lodge their small, misformed family lived in loomed on the horizon; he could have been there in a few minutes, had he pressed himself, but that was not the trick, not now.
Moving behind Hel once more, he decided the best path was encouragement. This time, his teeth snapped a little too close to her ankles, nearly drawing blood. "Pick up those feet, sister... They won't move themselves!"
“And they won’t move at all if you bite them off, brother!” she shot back, picking up the pace again once they were on the downhill side of the hill, and momentarily opening up the distance between the two of them. She giggled with the sheer joy of running through the woods with her brother at her side.
His laughter echoed back, twining with hers, and they crested another hill to come closer to their home. Smoke had begun to rise from the chimney where there had been none before; a sign of life, which dampened Fenrir's spirits a little. If people were home, it would kill their game; Fenrir encouraged his sister on, despite the fact that they were running toward something unknown. That in itself was exciting, though of a different sort -- the kind that filled his belly with a lead weight, one that made him feel unsure.
Despite Fenrir’s encouragement, Hel slowed to a stop at the crest of the hill, her laughter dying, as the smoke from their hearth fire came into sight. She couldn’t put a finger on what it was, but something was different. She braced herself against a tree, catching her breath while she tried to make sense of the sudden feeling of unease.
“Father isn’t supposed to be home so soon, is he?” she asked, her voice low and quiet, as if she and her brother were in the midst of a hunt.
He came to a stop by his sister. There were strangers, clear as day, around their front door -- they looked like their tales described them. Fenrir could smell mead, blood, other things that were only spoken of in stories thus far in their young lives. Clearly, something was happening, but Fenrir did not know what. Their game of who could get to their father's sword first would have to wait.
"No, I don't think so. But I want to see what's happening," he replied, taking a few steps forward. "We'll never get to meet the others if we stay hiding, sister. It's time we show others who we really are."
Fenrir started forward, this time a slow walk carrying him toward their homestead. He did not pause to see if his sister followed; there were few other places for them to linger behind.