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In the dark, her eyes were dark; walnut shells dusted with soot. She looked frightened. It made him feel powerful. Here, he was in control; fate might careen him helplessly toward Ragnarok, and the fates might steal away his mother and sibling after sibling, one by one. And Sverke couldn't do anything about that, but he could toy with this poor thing like a mouse between a cat's claws until his curiosity was satisfied. He liked it.
You...What are you? She rasped. Sverke swept his tongue across his maw, brushing away a tuft of dark fluff.
Sun-eater, prince, warrior, and more. You can call me Sverke.
His quarry writhed beneath him, baring the soft fur of her starvation-tucked waistline in a silent plea for mercy. Sverke's lifted tail replied with a slow, stiff wag, an unspoken agreement not to aim his fangs for her vulnerable vitals.
You're quick, for one so small.The boy mocked with a tilt of his head.
What are you?
