Adrift chapter 10) from the ground he lingers
But he ignored her, continuing his pesky little game.
“Ivar-,” Piglet repeated, this time with a harsh undertone, “stop it, he’s a person!”
Ivar laughed, shaking his head before throwing another berry in the opposite direction of Stum. The man-child clumsily rushed toward the small piece of fruit and spun on his thick heels when Ivar threw another berry, again in the opposite direction.
“He’s a mule, at best,” Ivar pointed out and picked up a small rock. When he threw it, Piglet smacked the back of his head before speeding up to Stum and stamping her foot down over it to prevent the poor young man from breaking any more teeth.
“You are such a bastard!” Piglet raged, clapping one hand on her hip while using the other to point at him, “what’s wrong with you?!”
Now, that was a very good question indeed, it effectively reduced his smug attitude to a much cooler form; preservation.
“I am bored,” he declared with the stance of a two year old.
“Well, I can entertain you with a story about a tyrant who doesn’t get any supper tonight,” Piglet threatened, “here, do something useful, stir up the fire,” shoving a long branch into his hand, she charged off on a quest to find food. Stum easily picked her company over Ivar’s, and even Utstott chose to follow the person with the highest chance of success at scoring him some scraps.
Dejected, Ivar stared at the frail fire. Small flames curled and swayed, casting shadows. He fiddled with the branch between the smoldering twigs and dry leaves. The flickering and crackling of the burning wood was hypnotizing and oddly comforting. It kept him occupied while he waited and gave him a meager bit of purpose.
The tip of the branch lit on fire and he retracted it, bringing it close to its face and blew it out. It was stupid, but there was some sense of pride within him from stirring up their humble campfire. After weeks of being fully impaired, in pain and completely reliant, it was nice to do something.
Provide warmth and light, keep wolves away.
It was one of the many things that made him so resentful of Stum. Because that imbecile was clueless about how valuable he was to their little group of outcasts. Stum was a grand master of chopping wood. Stum was a strong conveyor, a protector, and while holding an axe came across as extremely intimidating.
As long as you didn’t snarl or bark at him, that was.
Stum was his superior and Piglet’s favorite. Stum managed to keep Piglet’s fears at bay and ignited the flame of her nurturing and caring nature. Stum’s mere presence made her smile, lit up her eyes, and eased her burden; taking care of him.
Airborne, Utstott glanced down peacefully at the odd couple beneath him. One stood out, whipping and smacking his arms around to avoid branches hitting his face. The other was a mere shadow, the only hint of her presence: the flashing of her teeth and white of her eyes.
Although there was plenty of forest fruit during the summer season, the humans grew hungrier by the day. Fresh meat hadn’t appeared on the menu for a long time. Het Teerkind, wasn’t skilled in making traps and the newest member of their group…well, lacked the brains.
Utstott had been able to scrap his own meal together, but aside from worms and a few field mice, he had nothing to offer.
Besides, Utstott didn’t like sharing. Those silly humans should be grateful for his mere presence. He could have left Midgard a long time ago, yet felt obligated to reappear everytime his troubled savior was in danger.
And danger had seemed to remain on their tail; why couldn’t those silly humans pick an easy life? A quiet life, within the safety of this forest. Away from wolves, rough rivers, angry farmers and-
Utstott’s list of former dangers was cut short as the bird sensed the sound of drunken, bellowing laughter.
The white raven dove into the shadows and reappeared above a prominent, well-established camp. It had a few huts made from branches and an outpost large enough to provide one person a high view into the valley.
Utstott landed atop the outpost. Taking notice of the obviously inebriated person on watch in the wooden tower, Utstott scanned the valley and cackled angrily as he spotted smoke in the air; smoke which gave the camp residents a free map to the whereabouts of his humans.
Before the drunk beneath him could take another sip Utsott soured into the sky, made a loop, and dashed into the cramped space of the outpost.
Like a cat in a sack, Utstott pecked and scratched until the drunk scurried down the ladder of the tower. The drunk’s high pitched cries alerted the rest, and it didn’t take long for five more men to rush to the center of the camp.
Finding their mate, bleeding and too drunk to mumble a simple sentence, the clear leader of the crew smacked both cheeks and shook him by the shoulders.
When the drunk was able to utter without a slur, Utstott was long gone into the shadows.
Ivar woke up, rubbed his eyes and wondered if he was still dreaming. The scene in front of him could simply never occur in this world.
Piglet sat crouched down in front of him, her ragged dress pressed up and she was peeing.
“Piglet?” He muttered, “if you are this scared of losing the way I can teach you to navigate by stars right this instance. No need to piss over all over camp!”
“Shut up!” Piglet whispered through gritted teeth and kicked sand over the moist remains of Ivar’s delicately curated fire.
Squatting down to her knees, Piglet rushed by his side and hastily pressed her hand over his mouth. Her bulging eyes and the sweat of fear trickling down her face told Ivar to comply immediately as he held his breath.
Leaning in close to his ear, Piglet whispered: “there are men, close.”
He could feel her heart gallop against his chest. Without a moment to lose, he wrapped his good arm around her neck and whispered back: “pull me away from the campfire.”
Piglet managed to drag his deadweight into tall grass, and from their current position the smoldering remains of the fire was barely visible. They, too, would be barely visible if any perpetrators happened to find their camp.
“Where is Stum? And Utstott?” Ivar mumbled.
“I- I don’t know, I lost them on the way back!” Piglet whimpered.
“The axe? Where is the axe?”
“I don’t know,” Piglet repeated, defeated and in tears.
“One job Piglet, one job!” Ivar hissed through his teeth, “gather food without getting any crooks on our tail, how hard can it be?!”
Silent tears ran down her cheeks, easing Ivar’s angered tone: “do not weep stupid girl, I will protect you, they will not find us.”
In his words lay empty promises, “we’ll find Stum back, I know we will. He is your shadow, remember?”
Piglet’s nod was everything but convincing, but she rubbed the tears from her face and found a way to carry her fear.
“We do what we do best,” Ivar continued, the tip of his lip touching the side of her ear, “we wait and observe.”
They’d rubbed mud and clay on their hands, limbs and face. Finding shelter in a natural hollow of the ground, they’d covered themselves with leaves and sticks; a perfect hideout for when daylight would break again. They lay locked against each other, sharing every breath and heartbeat. Piglet’s feminine frame somehow seemed to fit perfectly with Ivar’s broad and robust form.
Every so often Ivar’s breath would hitch, and each time the tiny hairs on Piglet’s neck would stand alert. It hurt to lay still for so long, his aching arm pressed stiffly between their bodies, while his good arm remained tightly around Piglet’s torso.
Ivar found it ironic; he’d done his absolute best to push her away, yet the thought of any men taking her away made his insides lurch.
His mind raced to block out the warmth and comfort his aching body received from holding someone else this way; from holding her. He struggled to keep his firm grip around her pragmatic and rough, a necessity to overcome their current situation.
But there lay fear in his embrace; fear of being gentle. Giving her the slightest impression of genuine care could be lethal in the long run. Because this was Piglet he was holding so close; this was the young woman who’d he seen live through horrors placed upon her by men.
And although she called him half a man, he was still one of the monsters she feared the most.
Dawn arrived and so did two men; judging by their appearance it was quite clear they were dealing with rookie pillagers. Young men; outlawed for numerous crimes. Those types tend to stick together, safety in numbers.
And of course, if you were planning to ambush travelers a set of extra hands were very helpful.
Ivar’s hand traveled upward, smothering the whimper that escaped Piglet’s mouth. Both held their breath as the two men ambled alongside their hiding spot and began to ravage their camp. Their furs were picked up, collected, and so was their water bag. One of the two whistled as he raised up their axe. He made a swinging motion, dripping with bravado, and felt compelled to pull up his sleeves and flaunt his abs to his fellow; who was much shorter and had a pudgy build.
The braggadocio made another swift move with the axe, and if it weren’t for the pudgy fellow’s instinctive recoil, the Tub would have been missing his head instead of just a string of hair.
A heated debate ensued in Dietsch and, although Ivar couldn’t understand their words, it was clear Tubs was beyond angry over the reckless action of Braggadocio.
But the young man with clearly more muscle than brain was higher in the pecking order and with a few nudges and stomps made, Tubs remembered his place.
Braggadocio swung the handle of the axe over his shoulder and motioned for his fellow to hurry up and collect the rest.
Ivar was certain that if his right hand wasn’t wrapped in a sling he would have been able to dominate and annihilate those two.
“Well, it’s good to know our axe was just a damn few feet away,” Ivar sneered sarcastically in Piglet’s ear when he was sure the two outlaws were far enough away, “was a damn few feet away, by the God’s Piglet!”
“-Do not dare to put the blame on me!” Piglet cut him off and shoved his arm off of her, “don’t you dare!”
Ivar bit his tongue and anger, it was useless to point out all her flaws and oversight. Besides, if he wanted her to be the protagonist in his ad hoc plan, he could not afford another argument.
“Piglet,” he started, knowing full-heartedly she was not going to like -she was going to hate him for- his plan, “we need our axe back, I cannot take out any men in my current state. So I need you to tear off just a little more of your skirt.”
Utstott watched the two outlaws as they dawdled over a herd path, content with their meager loot. Their loud chattering drowned out the sounds of the forest, birds taking flight from their nests and fleeing in an instant.
Utstott was the only animal who did not fear the two rude intruders. Like a loyal watchman he trailed above them, cawing feverishly.
His relentless squawking was a necessity; it muffled the rustling of leaves and crunching of twigs as two bare feet tried to catch up.
Het Teerkind was a pawn, a quick and stealthy pawn, who managed to pick up a handful of gravel along the way.
From a safe hideout behind ferns and bushes, she threw a pebble and managed to hit the muscular outlaw on the back of his head.
Instinctively, the Braggadocio punched Tubs straight in the face.
Tubs howled out from pain, his meaty fingers enclosing around his bloody nose. Dietsch exclamations echoed through the forest and ceased the moment another pebble hit the back of Braggadocio’s head.
The source of the annoyance revealed herself, het teerkind sprung from her hideout and sketched a brief bow in their direction, assuming a regal pose.
Both outlaws stared gobsmacked at the dark wildling who bared her teeth and launched a handful of gravel their way.
Het Teerkind bolted as the two outlaws began their pursuit, unaware they were set to fall into a bear trap.
Being chased sparked a primal fear in het Teerkind, this could be lethal and at worst- she could end up being nothing more than a share between the men. So, she ran as fast as her strong legs could carry her, she did not need to pretend the devil was chasing her.
She ran, screaming breathlessly as she zigzagged alongside trees, ducking under branches. Her pursuers struggled to keep up, their loot and size being a disadvantage.
Luckily, her terrified screams were an excellent lead; the Braggadocio yelled at Tubs to keep up as the space between the two outlaws grew.
When Tubs managed to falter, Braggadocio shook his head and sped up, determined to catch the wench who hit him twice in the back of the head.
As the trees diverged, it was easier for the young man to gain on her; the distance between him and her diminishing with each step.
Seconds before he could claw his fingers into the black matted curls ahead of him, his target did something odd; she took a little leap.
Her reason for doing so became immediately clear; a string of ripped skirt had been pulled tightly between two tree roots, tripping the huntsman.
Braggadocio tumbled over; palms instinctively pressed forward to prevent bashing his forehead.
The ground beneath him stirred and rumbled; a face appeared from behind a blanket of leaves.
Utstott watched with delight at how the cripple rose from the soil, headbutting the young man who straddled his chest while raising a moss-clad stone high into the air.
The cracking of human bone silenced the area.
Utstott watched as the cripple brought up the stone once more, hurling it down without reservation-caving in the backside of the young man’s skull. Blood spattered, staining the soil, the grass. It dripped down the young man’s chin, moments before his arms started to spasm and give in.
Cognizance left the flesh, but the body wasn’t ready to give up the fight.
For several moments, the cripple struggled to shove the convulsing limbs away from his face before delivering a final blow directly to the temple, ushering in a welcome surrender.
Utstott was more than pleased; knowing he will feast tonight.
Ivar needed Piglet to help push the deadweight off his torso. Before sitting up fully, he shot her a humble grin; it was meant to be apologetic, for his kill was sloppy and chaotic.
He realised Piglet wouldn’t read remorse from his expression alone, as he noticed warm blood running down his face. It wasn’t his, but he rubbed it away, fruitlessly. His skin was a mess of blood, soil and grime. At his side lay a dead body, fingertips still twitching and empty eyes staring up into the sky. The greenish moss-covered rock was crimson at one side and Ivar studied it for a moment, turning the heavy weight in the ball of his hand.
“Axe,” Ivar exclaimed pragmatic and stone-cold, “please,” he added, reluctant to lose the humble bit of partnership he and Piglet share.
The handle of the axe felt firm in his hand; just in time as the next opponent stumbled into view.
This kill would be less sloppy and much easier. Rotating the axe directly over his head, Ivar brought it forward and released it at eye level.
Simultaneously with the cracking of ribs, a guttural cry howled through the forest.
Ivar scrunched up his nose; aggravated by his failure. Using his left arm threw off his aim; the blade had embedded itself into the ribcage; not straight between the eyes as he’d wanted it to.
The corpulent young man spat up a mouth of blood; his fingers managed to form themselves around the axe sticking into his chest. In an idotic last resort to either take the pain away or survive, he tried to extract the blade.
It was a hilarious spectacle to watch; a man on his last resorts, pulling and pulling while organ failure set in and blood spewed onto the ground.
Well, from Ivar’s point of view that was funny anway.
“Axe, please,” Ivar spoke, a humorous twinkle flickered in his eyes as he cackled loudly when Piglet’s legs failed her and she dropped down to her knees.
He was on top of the world now; killing twice in a row, with only one arm. And with only a stone and an axe.
“Piglet, axe!” He was not being polite anymore, the rush of survival kicking back in.
“I am not touching him,” Piglet stammered empty, cradling her chest and sniffling like a weakling.
Ivar cursed at her under his breath and pulled himself forwards with his good arm; his useless legs pressing and kicking forwards the best way they could. It was hard; withdrawing the axe from the ribcage. But Ivar managed after puffing up his chest and giving it a vigorous pull.
The sound of the blade extracting made Piglet’s stomach turn and Ivar could hear her retch from behind.
He ignored her, flexing his neck and biceps. He was aching, all muscles above his torso were aching. But the blood in the air stirred up something from deep inside of him. Sucking in air through his teeth he undid the knot of Piglet’s makeshift sling. As the fabric fell, Ivar stretched his right arm.
He needed to bite the insides of his cheek when pressing both palms onto the forest floor; the pain radiating from his right shoulder was almost blinding.
But he’d forced his body through worse before, and so he took a trembling swing forward using his arms. Stifling a moan, he was surprised his right arm was steady enough to carry all of his weight and, although it was small progress, he reclaimed being mobile.
Gritting his teeth, he turned to Piglet, keeping the triumph to himself; for others mobility was as ordinary as being able to breath.
“You carry the axe, furs, and water bag,” he ordered gravely, forcing his voice to stay steady, “hide that bird’s nest of yours away, I no longer need your scarf,” he nudged his chin towards the forest, “we’ll go find that retard of a shadow of yours.”
A/N: After a bit of a writer’s block this chapter was a treat to write. WIth basically no guidelines aside from ‘something with Ivar killing outlaws’, I just took a freedive. Halfway I was a little bit of ‘shit it’s such a bad idea of Piglet losing Stum’, but in the end Ivar managed to save the day. Not sure what I enjoyed most; write the murder part or the part which Ivar was holding Piglet.
Also kudos for all who can write smut, seriously I struggled through getting two characters to LAY together.
As always, thank you so much for reading and sticking to this story.
The kickass beta: @sarahh-jane
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