[Kjetil = Norway]

ooo

Kjetil wanted to deafen the screams,

kill the cruel king of the war,

run away from all this,

let his body expire,

eternally quiet,

be forgotten.

But no matter what efforts he made,

he'd return to where he began,

to the bloodshed,

to the gore.

Eventually the Norseman would freeze,

heart enclosed in mile-thick glaciers,

soul colder than Svalbard's winter,

never to be fully thawed,

numbed by the evil

winter breeze.

But he would remember the sunlight,

run through it's golden warm rays,

smile with such novice glee,

but soon even that light,

would diminish away,

never to be seen,

for such a time.

It was so

horrid.

Kjetil leaned towards the orange tounges of fire that crawled on the logs splayed over the frozen winter ground, noticing the amber sparks as they flew and cooled upon impact. The leather-gloved hands would rub against eachother, causing friction, and would approximate themselves to the flames. They'd call the warmth emmiting from the blaze to coat their hands, asking it to abolish the deadening cold from them. He reached with one hand in his food satchel, and grabbed a small chunk of moose meat.

The miserable ammount of food Kjetil had reminded his of what time of year it was. Winter had scared all of the wild game back into their warm dormatories, shriveled the flora, and stripped most trees of their leaves, the exeption being the unedible pines. The chilling cold also spooked away human civilization, which meant no aid. If he was unfortunant, people might find his rotting body in spring one day, instead of right now, when he was atleast alive... Kjetil angrily chewed the smoked meat, glaring at the dead, snowy pine forest infront of him. He recieved no noticable response.

Frustrating. Truely frustrating. But this had been the lifestyle he had chosen over going to village to village, asking for food and a place to sleep for the week, because the Norwegian knew what would happen time and time again- His curse would bring some sort of tradgedy and insecurity to the town, whether it be a famine, pirates, an epidemic, or death. He wanted his steps not to taint the ground with misfortune, but there was nothing he could do. No sacrifice or spell would rid him of this, this unluckiness, something he knew all too well from the variety things his home village had attempted for him to no avail, which ultimately led to the villagers banning him from their small northern home.

He cradled his heads in his hands. No matter how much time passed, he could not rid all of the images from his head of past times. They still managed to cause him crippling pain. But he knew that moping would do him no good, so rather than that, he set out to explore, maybe map out some territory. It was getting dark, a bad time to go outside, but Kjetil didn't plan to wander very far. It wasn't as if he was going to explore the whole world... And he had the advantage of heightened night-vision, a skill he told no one.

He put out the fire by dumping some snow and hard dirt over it, not wanting the light to attract any other animals while he was gone. The blonde-haired man then hid his belongings under a deep pile of snow, not wanting any curious eyes to spot his live-saving items. With all that done, he set out to look around, bringing a small dead squirel, a canteen, and a small hand knife along with him.

After a while of wandering around, he discovered that the area was a fairly good place- He managed to find a river up north that supplied crystal-clear water, a small mountain with abundant ammounts of rocks usable for all sorts of tools, and plenty of house-building timber. The only thing that worried him was the constant howling of wolves. Every minute or two, he'd hear their calls, each one distinct. What if they got close to his camp? He'd hidden his supplies, but knowing them... Also, it wouldn't be pretty to meet one of their kind without any sort of armour or weapons any day.

After filling his leather canteen with water of the river, he decided to head back to his resting area. He hadn't trekked too far, and he could still clearly remember where he had gone, even if every five feet of scenery seemed duplicated. Amidst the light snow [something he had been glad for, usually the snow was knee-deep], rows of pine trees, and spots of frozen dirt, there where small distinctive things:

Over the river, turning right on the scratched pine, going left when passing the tainted mountain of snow, another left after ariving to the dry-le-

His train of thought collapsed when he saw a fresh set of footprints heading to the same place he was walking to. They were narrow indentations on the coma-white snow, which Kjetil'd easily remove by walking over them, making them go unnoticed. But now in his sight, he followed these small signs... All the way to his camp.

He resisted the urge to swear loudly as he creeped behind a huge silver wolf digging through the snow where he had placed his supplies. Next to the beast, some cloth lay, ripped up. He recognized parts of his second anorakk, and some leather, possibly from his boots. When he turned back to the wolf, it had already devoured whatever food he had obtained, and was overturning some of the supplies he had, inspecting them, some of them being his assorted collection of knives, hand axes, arrow-heads, and hammers.

Kjetil quietly stared, waiting for the wolf to leave for an agonizing ammount of time. It was better not to try to shoo away an opponent of that size, death on his side being the obvious outcome. But with all of his supplies gone, it was likely that he would die anways. Yet he'd prefer to be given a chance to find life elsewhere than be mauled to death.

Suddenly, a breeze blew from behind me, to the direction of the wolf, dragging his scent to the wolf's nose. The silver-furred monster stopped in mid-job, sniffing the air, searching for the origin of this new smell.

"Fae-," he began as the beast sensed him, turning it's huge furry head around. Drool hang from its mouth, signaling that rabies had infested its body. The beady black eyes held a crooked type of insanity, one donned by murderers. Even through it's thick plated fur, he could see the iron-tough muscles, ready to assist the canine in any type of kill, ranging from a small rabbit to large bison, and the occaisional blonde haired, blue eyed, young Norwegian called Kjetil.

It let out a baritone growl, the noise seeming to him louder than the fall of a tree. It was all he could focus on, the noise mesmerizing him in a way. Maybe it was the looming threat of death that made him feel that, or it really was truely that enthralling and full of power. But it didn't matter- He wasn't going to be drawn to this beast much longer, due to the fact that he wasn't going to be here anymore if he didn't do something soon.

Ttttrrrk... A small clicking sound was heard to his left. He could place what it was, but he didn't care. There was a monsterous, sterling-coloured creature probably ready to make him his supper, and there was nothing he could use to fight against it except a small hand knife. It wouldn't be to much use, though, since he wouldn't have enough time to react. It moved forward to him slowly, in a liquid, smooth way.

Tttttrrrkhhhh... The noise grew louder, slowly augmenting in volume as the wolf's growl did. Kjetils adrenaline level spiked. His senses heightened. The Norwegian's focus expaned. His brain started making it's own calculations, recalling memories that might aid him in his situations. He began to become a little twitchy.

"It let out a baritone growl, the noise seeming to him louder than the fall of a tree."

Khhhsh! Fffffshhh- The sound of a falling pine could be heard all throughout the forest. At the same instant, the wolf lunged to his face. Time slowed down as it neared his eyes, the spit flying from its black gums seeming to freeze in place. Just a split particle in time from the moment when the huge white teeth teared his face, a force threw him to the right without mercy. It left him gasping for air, and his vision slowly began to darken and blur. Something spiky poked his skin along his face, but with his eyesight unusable, and his consiousness slowly slipping away from him, he couldn't tell.

The last thing he recorded before blacking out was a loud snap, a high-pitched canine cry, and a heavy thud.

All was quiet for a long time.