what's going on in your head

The skies were clear as the sun began to shine above, the air crisp and cool; peaceful and undisturbed.

That is, until a loud and guttural groan burst from a figure that had been slumbering, his large body quaking as he awoke and joined the land of the living. A dark nose twitched, nostrils flaring at the chill that spread through his hunkered body and he couldn’t help but shiver. “Mor oer!...” — So cold… his words were broken and harsh, whispered to no one as he fought to gain clarity and right himself.

Iced eyes were slow to open, his blinks slow and somnolent. They were full of delayed confusion as he took in the sights around him - he was not where he’d been when he’d fall asleep. He may have been delirious and halfway mad with fever but he knew enough… This was not his home.

More raspy groans were heard as Caspian pulled himself upright, shoulders cracking and stretching as he leaned forward before bringing himself to a stand. He started to shake himself off, irritated by the flakes of ice that clung to him before a sharp pain made him hiss in pain. Immediately, his attention was turned to his hind leg that was stained red and home to a nice ol’ laceration. It was jagged and gods, did it hurt. It was almost like the one he’d gotten weeks prior.. That was supposed to have been healed.

Huh.

The beast of a man barked out a laugh at the irony, his face still a grimace from pain. He didn’t know where he was, what time it was and or even what he was but he didn’t panic. Instead, he focused on the pain and ire that roared within him and let that ground him. Let that focus him. He’d huff and give a snap of his jaws before turning to look around, inspecting.

Ah! He wasted no time and headed over to the small stream that lay nearby and would aim to dip his wound. It was an awkward attempt and he was a mess of limbs , curses and grumbles erupting from him. Eventually the man found it easier to just lay in it with the upper half of his body still on dry land and let the running water do its thing. Caspian was no medic but he knew the cold would feel better and he was cleaning it… right? Yes. That sounded right.

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Åshe explored the veils this morning to find a hideaway. She trekked down the mountainside of her home, and into the forest that lingered below. It was covered in white— snow, frost. It never seemed to truly get warm in the North. Åshe preferred it that way.

But what surprised her was the sounds that erupted before her. Masculine sounds— groaning, was that a chuckle? She wasn't entirely sure. Cautiously, she made her way through the woodland, feet crunching the hard snow. Where she was led was toward a stream— a cold one.

Through the foliage, she squinted narrowing her eyes on a large, stocky male. He had an interesting coloration of russet hues tied together with greys and whites. She doesn't think she's ever seen such a combination. He smelled warmly, comfortingly. She wanted to retreat, warn Stjörnuáti of an intruder on their hunting grounds, but then she smelled it.

The blood.

Her head snapped back around, looking towards him, laying there in the river. Blood trickled, muddying the water to a ugly brown color. Åshe's lip curled, disgust pooling in her throat. Help him, her mind cooed, and she thought she just might.

She emerged, tall, head raised confidently. "You're hurt."
 

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The man let out a satisfied sigh as the cold water washed over his leg, ignoring the chill he felt throughout his entire body. A little more cold for some pain relief? Worth it. Besides, two birds with one stone, he figured. Pain relief and he was preventing infection by washing it.

Caspian would grin toothily, a sense of pride swelling in his chest. He had this handled. He didn't need anyone.

A lone wolf, through and through.

Tall ears were perked and he watched his blood muddle the stream with a lazy grin, captivated by the sight. It had a strong scent - metallic and cold. He wondered how far the scent would travel or would it wash away as quickly as it came? He couldn't recall having been able to smell blood so strongly before but he didn’t mind it. It was familiar and it made him nostalgic for home.

Focused and clueless to the world around him, he didn’t see or smell the woman until she was headed towards him, speaking words of a tongue he hadn’t heard in ages. Her accent was strong and he assumed it was not her favored tongue either. The woman was tall, willowy and lovely. Her furs were dark shades of blue and grays; it reminded him of cloudy sky. One of his favorites. She walked with a confidence he didn’t see often in women from back home and it made him curious. Who was she?

Her words made him laugh again, the sound guttural and harsh. A quick glance was thrown back at his leg and he gave a small curse in welsh, eyes rolling.

Did she think he didn’t know? He wasn’t that ignorant.

Caspian didn’t rise from his claimed spot in the river and instead pulled himself more upright to face her, nose wrinkling as his leg scraped against the rocky bottom of the stream. He couldn't help but flinch. Ouch. ”Yes.” he nodded with a neutral expression now, huffing at her in irritation. “I fix.” Duh.

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Åshe approached him, unafraid that he may leap at her. He wasn't exactly in a condition to do such a thing. In this moment, she would take advantage of that. Close the distance between them.

Her feet shuffled into the water beside his leg, twisting her body to look towards him. She looked back at his leg, still bleeding, in the freezing water. Then back to him. A brow raised, inquisitvely. His facial expression read that he thought he wasn't an idiot, but she begged to differ. "This is not fix."

She tsked her tongue, looking back towards the forest. Where were some of her herb caches? It was moments like these where she knew such things would come in handy. "Move leg. Water too cold." The whole thing would probably freeze off, put him into hypothermia, kill him if she didn't do anything.

Under her breath, she would utter soft curses. "Eldhúsfífl," — Idiot. she would repeat the term over and over as she gave him some space, stance wide as she contemplated her sense of direction. "Stay. I get herbs."
 

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The man couldn't help but frown when the tall woman approached him, icy eyes sparkling with annoyance. Had she not heard him? He didn't need help: he had fixed himself already. Despite his irritation, Caspian made no moves to lunge at or away from her - he stayed put, waiting to see what she wanted..

As she came closer, a warm spiced scent hit him and he couldn't help but blink in surprise. Was that her? Spicy and sweet.. Comforting. Before he could comment, she beside him splashing water with each step. "Careful," he'd mutter, yanking his leg closer to his body. “Hurt.” His tone was teasing but he glowered as he said it, iced eyes narrowed at her.

"Yes," he'd nod in defiance, staring at her with his chin raised. Was she deaf? He had already told her. "I fix." And while the water was cold, Caspian was fine. He was getting used to it now and his body was tingling with a calming numbness. The wound itself was only aching now, a dull feeling. He could barely tell it was there.

He was fine.

Nonetheless, as she left his side just as quick as she'd joined him, he pulled himself upright on shaky legs, muttering his own share of curses. His teeth clenched, a shiver running through him. He couldn’t feel his toes.

Who did she think she was? And what was Eldhúsfífl? It sounded rude. Hmph.

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Åshe came back, hurried, with a bundle of a variety of herbs that will help him. Bistort, Bladderwort, Borage, and a branch of Huckleberries. And to wrap around his wound, Ladyfern. This combination of herbs should do the trick, so long as he stayed—

She saw him as she emerged from the tree line. He was attempting to stand. Shaking, of course, he could barely keep himself upright. Åshe broke into a sprint, and just before she reached him, she lay the herbs on the ground. "Sit!" She would shout, a light curl of her lip showing how angry she had gotten.

"You make worse. Sit. I fix." A light snarl curved her face, and she was satisfied once he laid down. Once he listened to her, the anger washed away quickly. She had no expression once she went to work before him, dragging the pile back to her feet. She crunched the berries and other herbs into small pieces, a paste at most, and then looked to him before she would do anything else.

"I fix now?"
 

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Caspian couldn’t hold back the irritated grumble that rumbled deep within his barreled chest, annoyed by the woman’s raised voice, that curled lip and the fact she thought to prove him wrong. He had been fine by himself and he would be fine with her help. He was a warrior. Had been.

Part of him found her striking, a dark beauty to behold with her blazing ferocity and tenacity and for a moment, it made his body flush with sudden warmth, a whisper under his skin…. but his annoyance outweighed anything else. It made him blind.

At first he refused to bend to her will, his held high and gaze flashing in defiance at the woman. Make me, he seemed to say, ignoring the weakness in his limbs and the way his paws tingled against the ice. He’d wave only moments later, ears flat against his skull and then his teeth bared as his gaze fell from her.

“Griag Mad!” — Mad woman! he groaned, his accent thick as he pulled the words though bared teeth, nostrils flaring angrily before he fell back towards the earth. He caught himself - barely - with his shoulder and front limbs, groaning at the impact. He muttered a curse, a few actually, before righting himself and stared once more at the dark woman.

Caspian just stared, iced eyes narrowed and he let the silence drag on as he caught his breath, gray chest heaving with each inhale. Until finally, he snorted.

“You fix.”

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Åshe's teeth would snap towards the large, burly, auburn colored male. A snap coming so feverishly at his snarky attitude. She was doing him a favor, and he was acting more like a bairin than Bartel had. It made her question whether the fealty of this man was worth her struggles, or if he was just a lard of fat and bone that chose to bitch about the things he has not.

Before he even confirmed that she could work on him, she did. She dressed his wounds with the churned herbs, saliva lacing them together so they would stick. Against the open would his leg was, she lapped at it with her tongue, dragging the herbs against his skin.

Once she had, she removed her head. She'd look at him, but then went back to her herb pile. "Name?"
 

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This time, the beast of auburn and grays stayed still while the dark woman tended to his leg. His body was stiff and unmoving like a stone sculpture as he lay there, gaze glued to the medic. The frosty ground pacified the rage that had burned within him so quickly, the smoke merely smoldering now.

Sharp ivory was bared and on display as she worked, his lips stuck in a grimace as teeth glistened under the sun that shone above. It stung but he did not complain - much. His nostrils flared and he watched intently with a cold gaze that was unreadable, curses whispered under his breath in a tongue only he would understand.

"Where learn?" he demanded of her, wincing as her tongue lapped at his wound. The herb mixture she'd made felt like iron against his bloodied flesh and he swore he could feel it all the way down to his toes. However, even though he was still wrought with pain and displeasure, he was curious. It had been a long time since he'd met someone who knew how to work with plants and it reminded him of his youth, back when he lived in a town with more bountiful resources and townsfolk that still boasted with a unified hope.

Caspian stayed put when she was done, his own head dipping down to inspect her handywork. He sniffed a few times, tongue tingling at the scents that danced on his tongue. They were strong and medical and as much as he wished to lap them away, he resisted ruining her good work.

He could only hope that she knew what she was doing and if she truly did, that it wasn’t the devils work. During his travels, the man had heard of those who dabbled in poison and produced tinctures that were meant to maim instead of mend.

"Am Caspian. Warior y llafn rhuddgoch." — Warrior of the Crismon Blade. He paused, frowning with a snort. "Was Warior." His words came out strong but harsh, his accent thick as he formally introduced himself. He didn’t ask for her name in return but instead waited, almost impatiently for her to return the favor. It was a silent demand, his posture still stiff as he watched her without shame, red ears perked and on alert. His chest continued to rise with each deep breath that made its way into the brisk air, the smoky tendrils dancing up towards the sky as the seconds passed between them.

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Åshe's work was only slightly complete. Once the paste she had created was lathered on his leg, she would take a moment to admire her work. The paste been chewed down to perfection. There had been a lingering taste of bitterness that soured the inner parts of her mouth, but it was worth it for the better ends of this male's recovery.

He had asked her a question that made her freeze. 'Where learn?' He had asked. Her head slowly turned to look at him, eyes raking along his thick, robust frame of dark crimson fur. She had to admit, he wasn't a sore to look at. She took a deep breath in, thinking of a way to converse with him properly. "Learn from home."

She would say, not offering that much of an intellectual response. What more could she say? It was hard to tell him what she wanted, as the words in the common tongue were lost on her; knowledge being limited in the words she held inside of her brain.

When his head came to inspect the contents on his leg, she gave a gruff grumble. "No touch," she would reaffirm. "Needs time."

She would grab the leaves of Ladyfern, dropping them at his wound. "I wrap. No move."

Without needing his confirmation, she would maneuver her jaw to wrap the fern around his leg, compacting it to a tight degree. "Comfortable?"
 

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 She had not offered up her name.

 Did she not think him deserving enough? Was he too much of an unrefined brute? The very thought made Caspian’s fur bristle and nostrils flare in disappointment as he huffed. ”Name?” he grunted, refusing to look at her now. His icy orbs stayed glued to the snowscape beneath him, focusing a little too intently on the parts that melted beside him, disturbed by the heat that radiated from his large form.

 ’Learn from home?’ It was not much of an answer but he huffed in reply, nodding his head. Caspian couldn’t help but wonder where home was but he was unsure how to ask, what with the words shared between them limited. Would she even tell him if he asked? He assumed not; they were strangers. He wasn’t even sure why she was so insistent on helping him.

 ”Just look,” the man’s reply came quickly and he resisted the urge to roll his eyes at her. Instead, he turned his frosted gaze back on her, piercing and unwavering in his stare. He would not mess up her handiwork even if part of him wished to lap away the paste and return to his spot in the stream. That had felt much better. “Only look.”

  And look he did.

 He continued to watch her as she finished fixing him up, breaths steady and slow. She was so focused as she worked, wholly in her element it would seem. It was enchanting. She was enchanting. While a low grumble rumbled deep within his chest as she tightened the fern around his leg, he resisted the urge to pull away. He uttered no protest this time, keeping his leg still and in place for her. Caspian could be a patient and obedient man, just watch.

  While she finished up, he huffed at her and shook his head. “You…” he paused, struggling to find the words. How did he… Ugh. Women. She reminded him of Bronwen. She had always relished in telling him what to do and having the last word had been her favorite sport. She had been a spitfire, a hellhound he’d absolutely adored. ”Bossy. Meny bos. — Bossy woman.” It wasn’t said as an insult - not really - moreso as a fact.

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Åshe looked back down at his wound, she was careful as she continued to inspect it further, making sure the wrapping had been tight enough, but able enough for him to put the slightest amount of pressure on it. He asked her name. Her ears flickered, flattening against the back of her head. "Åshe."

The matriarch hoped that satisfied him enough to be able to look at her general direction once more. He had looked away from her, almost out of pure stubborn delight. It made her look up toward him with hooded lids, her lashes fluttering against the bone of her brow.

"Only look." Åshe would reaffirm to Caspian. She waited eagerly for his response to the comfort of the wrap. If he had whined further about it, she would've altered it, but this was the best she could manage. She noticed a weaker edge of the wrapping and dipped her head down to give a rough lick against the fern. It was bitter to her tongue, but she made no motion to display her disgust. No matter how much she wanted to.

He muttered something about her being bossy. 'Bossy'— this wasn't the first time she had been called that. She wasn't sure what it meant. "Bossy," she'd repeat on her tongue. "What mean?"
 

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Åshe.

Her name was Åshe.

He said it was once, under his breath, just to see how it sounded on his tongue. He quite liked it. Part of him wished for a reason to say it again.

When Caspian turned his gaze back on her, he was surprised to see her looking back at him and was caught off guard by her own cerulean gaze. They were framed by long fluttering eyelashes that made something deep within him flutter, his chest tightening as warmth spread throughout his chest. Get it together, he told himself, wondering if maybe he’d lost too much blood. The answer was probably not; it was only a minor flesh wound and he’d had far worse. However, that was the excuse he’d give himself. An excuse he’d accept.

Caspian couldn't help the echoing grumble that left his lips when she leaned down to mess with the fern that was wrapped around his leg, having thought her to be done. What now? He leaned in towards her, curious and impatient but did not make a move to stop her. He would keep his word. “Bad?”

His gaze raked over her slender form as she questioned him, his large jaws parting in a loud snap before he’d repeat himself again. ”Yes. Meny bos. Big bossy." He snorted, gesturing towards her with a wave of his paw. Had she never heard the word? Hmmm. He would have figured she had given her knack for ordering him around like she owned him and they were mere strangers! He could only imagine what she was like with those she considered friendly.

The words tumbled out slowly as he struggled to explain himself, his brows furrowed in frustration. He wished they shared a common language; he didn’t enjoy having to explain himself but he’d try his best. “Åshe…like King. Order me...Command me.”

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Åshe couldn't look at him as he repeated her name sweetly against the muscle of his tongue. She knew if she had, he would've bore witness to the rising blush on her dark cheeks. Even then with fur the color of the night sky could you see it tint a dark, crimson rose. Not even the matriarch of Hrafnsvaktin was immune to compliments.

Even if they weren't direct ones.

As she was messing with the placement of the fern against his wound, she felt him shift. His head got closer to her— very close. She bet that if she looked up, her muzzle would bump against his. So instead, she kept her distance, clearing her throat to make an attempt to rid her of the nervous anxieties that fluttered in her belly. "It will heal. In time."

Åshe would say, her sentence firm. She'd pull herself away from his intoxicating aura, already feeling herself become drunk off the mere scent of him alone. Men like this had an effect on her— men dripping with strength, testosterone, heeding vibrancy.

She would frown then, playfully. Her tail swiped from side to side. "You think me a king?" The word 'king' had sounded funny on her tongue. She much preferred 'Jarl' as the pale man of the mountain had liked to be addressed.

"Because you whine like bairin. Child. Little one." Her head would dip, getting close to his face as she said so. "Does Caspian have home?"
 

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Red ears flicked at the sound of Åshe clearing her throat and the brute resisted the urge to lean in even closer, his curiosity prickling at his skin. It was tempting, oh so tempting but he stopped himself and instead, watched as she leaned away with an inquisitive expression. He gave her a quick nod, letting out an appreciative chuff as the long furs on his neck danced on his chest. "Good.”

He took that moment as an excuse to lean in again, taking a closer look at her work. His fur was still stained with hints of red but the wound itself did look much better, hidden by the salve and plant she had dressed him with. Caspian had no clue what she had used but he had made a mental note to remember the color and the shape of the fern that held everything in place - just in case. As much as he may have denied it, he was a man who had the habit of finding himself with an injury one way or another.

Caspian couldn't help but bark out a laugh when she asked him if he thought she was the king, the sound boisterous and echoing between them. A happy sound. One that was both unrestrained and natural. It came deep from within his chest, his jowls parted, nose wrinkled and eyes squeezed shut as it continued to flood out. ”Like King!”

His laughter was cut short, however, when she called him a word that was alien to him. Bairin? He was Bairin? Him, a child? As if! As he quieted town, ready to protest with a grumble and his frosted gaze slid open, the man was surprised to see Åshe so close to him

When had she….

His words caught in his throat and he’d swallow slowly, suddenly flush. Caspian made no moves to pull back and met her gaze with his own, inhaling her scent like he needed it to live. The spicy notes that filled his nose were delicious, mouth watering. They made his chest tighten and body warm. Hoping to clear his head, he cleared his own throat this time, wishing for a clear mind.

“Caspian…who not Bairin..No home,” he shrugged, ears flat against his skull as he spoke quietly. He had almost forgotten. “This new. Sleep... Now here. No home before; no home now.” Before this, he had been a loner. He had lost everything. He had had nothing to live for, not after the loss of his family and the fall of the kingdom he’d been bred to protect.

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No home. Åshe grumbled, her lip curling accidentally at that. She didn't want him to not have a home. Especially in his condition. His words to her had been quiet. It was like he was embarrassed. Åshe mimicked the action of her ears flattening to her head with displeasure. She'd frown, too, lip coming to a soft pout.

"You come home with me," she had said, not treating it like an offer. She would wish to take him to her home at the fjall, but he was in no good condition to walk. Steadily, she'd retract herself from his presence. It ached to do so. She'd look around, stopping her gaze at the mountain. It was a fair journey from here. She looked back to Caspian. No way.

He couldn't make it there. Not today.

"We stay night here." She said to him, coming back to take a step towards him. In his personal space. Åshe bent down to his head level. "Cold."

Is all she had said, but looked to the space next to him against his upper body. A slot that she could fit against him, fall asleep into. Truly, what would he use all that space for? Åshe would not sacrifice a cold, freezing night when it could be spent at the side of this behemoth of a male. "I lay there?" She would request him sweetly, her voice coming to a low lull.

 

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Blue eyes zeroed in on her pouty lip as she mirrored his frown, his breath hitching in his throat. She truly was a pretty thing, wasn’t she? Caspian almost forgot where he was for a moment but his mind cleared when she spoke up. Come home with her? To where? He was used to being on his own now and the idea of being tied down somewhere, wherever that somewhere was, made his skin crawl. He was a lawless, free man and it made him want to get up and run away to hide in the depths of the winter.

His eyes shifted to his leg and he held back a sigh, knowing he wouldn't get very far even if he were to try. Besides, Ashe didn’t seem like she was giving him a choice by the tone of her words. Assertiveness oozed from her and he wasn’t going to complain, not out loud at least. Instead, he merely shrugged at her statement, nostrils flaring as he looked off into the distance, towards the mountains.

It didn't look like home to him but what did he know? He didn’t even know where they were and how they’d come to be. Perhaps in time, he hoped. In time it would all make sense.

”Cold.” The brute echoed with an inviting nod, his voice a whisper as she crawled into the space next to him, their body heats combining into one. The moment her furs brushed against him and he felt her against his large form, he swore he could feel electricity pulsing through him. Hot and static. It made his body tremble and his teeth clamp together. He couldn’t remember feeling so alive in the months before this and he chalked it up once more to blood loss and the oddity of this new world.

Without much thought or explicit permission from her, Caspian burrowed his entire snout in the luscious furs that pooled around her neck, a forelimb snaking over her back to pull closer into his side. His grip was firm and if she didn’t fight, his snout would rub against her skin, nostrils flaring as he breathed in her spicy succulent perfumes. “Cold,” he said again, a strained and whispered rasp, his breath hot against her neck. “Make warm.” An excuse. Forgotten was any irritation from her earlier demands or antics. Any displeasure or vexation, gone like they had never existed. Replaced by something else.

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Åshe made a makeshift home against his side. The spot there had been filled by her entirely, his body and mind inviting of her presence. She was grateful for that at least. He didn't seem to put up a fuss either about coming back to Hrafnsvaktin with her. In her mind she had already convinced herself that he would be a good viking.

He pulled her closer. Taking charge over her frame. His forearm wrapped around her, shielding her from the cold. The wet skin of his nose brushed against the hot furs of her neck, a sharp chill of goosebumps trailing down her spine. She didn't shove his presence away— it would be a foolish move on her survival out in this cold.

'Make warm' he had said to her. She hummed in agreement. Shifting closer, only if possible, she'd rest her head on the forearm of his that didn't wrap around her. "Walk tomorrow," she'd said, voice low as she was getting more comfortable against him.

"I take you to Mountain."
 

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