Odin's Prize

The Importance Of Symbols

A thought, a touch, a blissful pull of the outer layers of skin when Odin brushes his cheek against mine with the crowd watching his every move. 

Tenderness

His hand against the lower arch of my back, a finger feeling the line of lace that he so nicely laid out for me earlier in the evening. 

The finger laying on the floor is getting covered in a liquid blanket of blood, one drop at a time. The offending wolf makes no sound; he doesn't even acknowledge the fact he has lost a digit of significance. 

Odin's back is turned to this wolf as if he forgot he's even standing there. Odin has no consideration of the male who he just maimed. 

The focus of him is on me, ancient forest greens making the heart within my chest start beating at an indecent speed. One more soft indentation inward of skin with his flesh as he nudges our cheeks together before pulling away firmly. 

Stepping into the radius of that wolf, he engulfs Fogson's space so severely that the male is having a hard time standing straight. The spine of him is bending, crushing downwards causing those shoulders to hunch forward. His neck angles exposing his carotid artery, a submission without Odin's request is being granted. 

"Pick your finger, up." The calmness of tone is deceiving, the edge of the last word spoken ripples with an undercurrent of severity. 

The wolf does exactly what's being demanded of him, reaching down he picks up the appendage that used to belong to him. He holds it out to Odin. 

"Knife."  Odin's eyes never wavering from the wolf. 

Fogson reaches behind him, pulling out a silver knife. Holding the handle out towards Odin, he makes no move to take it. 

The moment is stretched out, lingering on all the eyes that are watching intently at the outcome of this display. 

The wolf is quick spinning around slamming the blade of silver into the wooden wall; the finger now held up by the knife for all to take notice of what happens if you touch Odin's half. 

The Wild within shuffling the layering of my skin, letting Odin understands she appreciates his tolerance of other males her way. Odin leans into the space of the wolf, crushing it completely. 

"When I do send you to the Moon, you'll go as a warrior meeting your mate." Odin puts his cheek against the male's cheek, while Odin's voice prowls around this confined space for all to feel its breath on their flesh.

"Let's go home." Odin's voice stalks along the clavicle bone to wisp gently on the rise of my chest. The touch of his nose on my cheek, inhaling to expand his lungs fully.

There is no sound; nothing is moving but eyes on our back as the door shuts behind us. A bitter wind once again chastises my cheeks while walking into its glacial direction towards Odin's house. So powerful is the onslaught of air that I have to lean into it to so I don't get blown away. 

"Hold onto my back." Odin steps into the path of Nature's violence. When we set out slowly, Odin's body is standing straight up against the gusts so powerful that it cracks the top of trees down in the distance. 

Crawling progress forward, it takes three times as long to get to the front door than when we left. Odin opens it, allowing me to step inside first. When he closes the door up, he unleashes his Wild's voice into the wind. The edge of sound cuts through the current, bending, pushing the arch outward away from the house briefly until the sound ebbs away from his chest and another gust of wind takes the displaced airs place.