4 hours ago
He'd caught a whiff of them when the wind turned, some miles back, while he was making his way north again. And again, going the wrong way. At a certain point, even Sverke had to admit he wasn't really trying to get back to the island.
He didn't want to step foot on his mother-goddess' land without the brother he'd grown up there with. He didn't want to encircle the island's beach borders on a morning run and note with every step Asgeir's absence from their scents. He didn't want to face Tyr alone. A failure. Unworthy of following Freya to the Fields. Unworthy of the family he cared about, in his own way.
But then, here they were, Sindri and - was that Bragi's scent on the wind too? Faint, but Sverke had nothing better to do than follow the wind up the cliffsides to sate his curiosity. Higher and higher, huffing and puffing under the noon sun, until he clambers over a particularly sheer cliffside, takes a breath, and notes a particularly big dark spot swimming in his vision.
Holyyy shit. Bragi. He couldn't believe it, even if he'd followed half a hunch and half a scent scattered on the wind to get here. Sad, quiet, undeserving of the sibling-pelt they share from Tyr, Bragi. Freakish, bleeding, nonsensical half-seer, Bragi. Sverke grins at her like the sun is caught behind his teeth, arrogant and thousand-watt.
Well, well, well. Look who grew a pair!Beside her is Sindri, looking well-fed and wearing her normal, dumb 'I'm Cupid's Favorite' face. Ugh. Well, at least she seems alright.
