Cerulean eyes, even though piercing, still remaining that dull shade that held more wisdom then fear. Skin, even though scared, still looked as soft as the clothes and fur that dressed it. The small symbols painted on his skin that made it just all that much more breathtaking to look at. Swift movements were made as the young man held out his hand for the taller man to take. Darker blue eyes returned the others glance, not as piercing or strong but just as determined.
Skin, looking rougher from a great amount of scars that were received in a number of victorious battles that the man had pulled himself through.
Reaching out his hand, fingertips brushing but falling through the gaps; the dull blue eyes that held a feeling, one the warrior couldn't quite explain. A feeling that was lost, alone, distracted by what to him felt like a curse.
One that made the two keep their distance from each other, the Danish warrior to keep spilling blood in the goal to keep his village safe, and the Norwegian shaman too guide the souls of those killed in battle.
Keeping their distance till the day that their fingertips did not fall through the gaps of each other's lonely hand.
A calm aura set in around the village as the sun slowly moved up behind the mountain peaks, shining light on the top of the forest trees.