#branne

Thus, they’re the highest cliff they could find in Labyrinthine Cliffs, the birds flying over their heads. The fresh sea air tickles at their hair, there’s sounds of life and joy everywhere and the roar of people as they look for little satchels of loot. Braham studies them as much as he’s able to from his position. 

“You’re gonna lose the race,” Sanne reminds him and he snaps his head forward. A ray of sunlight obscurs the most of her freckles, but sheds light on the wide, grinning corner of lips and the long, golden braids on the side of her head. The rest of her hair falls on her back and reaches past her hips, and it sways in the breeze. She looks so at ease there, radiant, the exposed skin of her body strong and taut and ready for action. 

“Oh no,” Braham laughs and climbs up. Gemma gives a screech of disapproval from somewhere above. “You’re not winning this one, Bjornsdottir. You won last time. It’s time you tasted some dust.” 

“In your dreams, Eirson!” she shouts back, trying to maintain her advance. And then, just for the hell of it, she starts humming a song she knows he absolutely abhors. Braham frowns. Not even Aisanne, the famed skaald from Hoelbrak, can make that particular tune good. 

It’s apparently the three seconds she needs to get a few steps ahead of him and the song abruptly stops. Smart, Braham thinks with not a lot of annoyance. Boy, her raven, flies over Braham’s face and gives him a quick look. In the last few months, he’s starting to have a communication of sorts with her birds. 

Yes, yes, I know Raven’s happy and proud. You’re a good bird, though. 

Boy makes a noise and flaps his wings. Their loyalty - his, Soar’s and Gemma’s - reminds him a lot of Garm. These days, it doesn’t hurt to think of Eir as much. Garm’s there to try and chase the lingering, unanswered questions away. There are other, painful thoughts, but Eir feels more like a healing scar than an open wound.

Life moves on, after all. Doesn’t wait for anyone. It didn’t wait for Nyra after Maguuma. It didn’t wait for Taimi after Joko almost killed her. It didn’t wait for Rox when her warband died. It didn’t wait for Sanne when her uncle died. Instead, they all just climb on - a flash of yellow up ahead, pale hairs of Sanne’s leg - and like his friends, like his mate, he climbs on too. 

Sanne wins by a small margin, though. She wipes the sweat of her forehead and places her hands on her hips as Gemma elegantly flies down on her shoulder. “Who’s eating dust now, Eirson?” she asks proudly. Boy and Soar settle by her feet, keeping close. 

“Two to one for you,” Braham declares. “Oh, I’m gonna get you for this. I was having very deep thoughts and that stopped me from winning. Next time, no deep thoughts, only victory.”

“The festival’s just begun,” she replies. There’s a joyful gleam in her eye. “And there are skimmer races. Don’t give a fuck about other contenders if you’re competing. We’re keeping a score, Braham. Do you really want to tell Garm I beat you here?” 

“Garm has seen me in much worse states, admittedly,” he says slowly, “but I do want to lay the wreath of victory at his feet.” His voice turns quieter, softer, then. “I don’t think he’ll mind whoever wins, Sanne. We’re all together in this.” 

Gemma hoots. Sanne takes a deep breath and strokes her beak. “Possessive little bird,” she says, but there’s nothing but fondness in her voice. “We’re a family, yeah. All six of us. And my parents. And aunts and uncles. And my cousins. Family.”

She then raises a hand and whispers something to the wind. Within minutes, a large griffon with dark feathers and a saddle flies to their rock, announcing its arrival in a loud yell. She gently places Gemma down with Boy and Soar and climbs on the griffon, petting its neck. 

She then turns to Braham, smiles softly, and says, “See you down, Eirson. I gotta take the children out for a flight.” Then she’s down and for a moment, his heart skips a beat. He then sees the flag of her golden hair out against the sunlight, in rapid descent and a whirlwind of air and laughter, and three bird-like forms trailing after her in formation.