She turns to look at him properly this time, noticing him backing away from her.

There's no words still, but simply the burning on her face, the rage in her soul. The need to be seen. The need for him to see her. And even if he hates her for it, she would make him acknowledge her. There's no more ignoring, no more treating her like she's nothing. Something in her soul says that men are not to be given mercy, even if they're related to her. Blood is nothing.

The burning in her blue eyes reflects the dying light of the sun. Look. Her face says it as she stands, stance wide, legs stiff.

Astrid is no longer going to be a lesser. She will not let anyone treat her as such. If he truly were greater than her, would Freya not have taken him? No. So he was never much of anything in the first place, was he? And she'd say that, but there are no words coming through her throat. She will not cry. She will not break.