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3-2-3 OC
SpeechEmotional Actions Thoughts
Brynhild hadn't been too great; her weight seemed to lessen, and her figure wasn't as strong as it once was. Truthfully, she had lost herself and lost the meaning of being a blade. Ylva was safe and had no true...reasoning to be protected constantly, did she? Brynhild didn't know what to do with herself at the moment; walking slowly from the Vale towards the river, she'd caught glimpses of it once in a while.
Fog seemed to roll in, oddly quickly, shrouding the lands in a blue haze that blurred her vision for a good distance. Pausing, she found her paws were dipped in the water of the river, chilling her to the bone and making her toes go numb. Her breath seemed to stutter, eyes catching a glimpse of a figure whisking through the hazy fog, barely visible, but she knew that walk; she knew the way those paws seemed to step as soft as a feather.
It couldn't be her, though; she was dead, no longer a part of the living.
Jórunnr, Jórunnr, reci mi da si to ti—To…To ipak ne može biti, Jórunnr!
As she spoke, the figure whisked away, dispersing into the fog; she could swear she saw it run off, though. A limp of a jog, her heart seemed to clench, pleading with this world, this island, that this is her sister, that she'd been saved before death took her. As much as she feared Jórunnr and her wrath, that was still her sister.
With hesitance holding her back, Brynhild broke into a sprint, dashing into the fog and pleading she find Jórunnr somewhere in the open
Please, please, Mother.
When she broke from the fog, she found herself falling, dropping into a hole just big enough for a grown wolf. Her teeth clenched as she tried to twist herself free of the roots gripping her. Jórunnr was nowhere, and she was now alone, stuck with the regrets of that night and how her dear sister screamed as she fell from the cliff.

