Snippet #2645478

The old man sat near the great temple, a little ways down the track. In the dwindling light he was very nearly invisible in his black cloak. A little steam rose from his mouth, though the rest of his face was shaded in the cowl of his cloak. The furs on his shoulders sparkled a little with flecks of snow, and the shield on his back gleamed with white streaks. He had sat there for a while, a raven on his shoulder, gazing into nothingness, listening to the sounds of the wild.

Brynjar had only just returned to this temple, a pilgrimage he made every year. He felt closer to the gods when he was out in the wilds, but this place still seemed the appropriate place to make his offerings. Though what more could he offer? His body and soul belonged to the gods. Carrying out their will in this world was the only duty that stood between him and seeking out a glorious death to join his brothers in Valhalla. This visit was different though, he could feel it. Something had drawn him here. As he waited for whatever it was, the raven had sat with him. It's jet black eye pierced his own and he grimly heard the messanger of Odin.

Straining his ears, Brynjar could just hear sounds from the village below. They were fighting again. It seemed a constant circle of events. Feasts, fights, and living. Especially in winter this was true. However, he could hear something else. Someone, no... two things were approaching. One walked with the gait of a human, the other he was not sure about. Resting his hand on the worn handle of his daneaxe he waited to see who it was. He doubted they would notice him before he saw them. No one save the gods had seen him for years.