BJORN BEAR-FIST ᵎᵎ

the mothers would make him ointments with certain oils to help his mood while he recovered, as he explained to them he was feeling very sad at this perceived weakness. the mothers assured him he had been very brave, and we all must rest to heal sometimes, but nothing worked. so they added patchouli to the lather they washed his hair with.  lavender to his pillow.    bjorn reacted very well to it, and by the time he had healed he had a strong fondness for perfumes and oils. so he learned to make them. 

His imagination is running rabid with imagery of dragons and demons. It’s very clear. The warrior is always eager to hear old wives tales, or spooky campfire tales, or even tales of history. It both baffled and amazed him that the world was so .. big, sometimes.     ❝ Was it very big? ❞

& he is almost exasperated, turning a weary gaze to they who had entered the stables.  ❝ Your mount-tender insists I mount this tiny horse, but if I do mount this tiny horse it will die instantly. Look at it. It’s like a leaf-stem in the breeze, and my weight will crush its tiny spine. Explain to him. ❞

This is their first time, ambushed, on the roads. Sneaky thieves looking to pilfer from the penniless.  Cowardly.  The first had thrown an axe, and his life had prompty ended by Bjorns fist. It wasn’t the first time he’d punched the lights out of someone.              Quite literally.  Without his swift intervention, however, that axe may well have struck off his companions head. Or almost. He doubted she’d allow that to happen, but still: better to be safe than .. well, responsible for someones decapitation.