I just got my wisdom teeth out so I'm a bit out of it—but I hope I still have enough sanity to write the next chapter of this damn story. So sit back and enjoy the drama! Thank you for the Reviews, thank you to MalinChan, yotzie, and Rusuu for being my awesome Swedish/Finnish translators! Much love to you guys! (No ponies named "Mjölk were harmed in this chapter!)
Oh, and I am so stupid- Apparently one should feverishly research Ringworm before basing a young bushy eyed British boy's illness on it! Sorry guys! But thank you very much for your constructive reviews and your recollections of personal experiences!
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Tino ran. His feet dug painfully into the sharp pine needled floor as his thin goat hide shoes did their best to support his weight as he clawed his way back up to the small forest clearing trail where the ponies were waiting patiently with the soldiers. His hands furrowed themselves into the dusty earth that crumbled underneath his scrunched fingers. He bit his lip as the sharp husk from a root nicked at his unprotected hands, his head tucked under his shoulder as he did his best to scurry up the small craggy cliff that had once seemed so small but was now so frightfully tall and impending.
As soon as Nikolas had uttered that horror and sorrow filled word, Tino had sprung forth from the clearing like a deer shied away from a copse by a hunters careless movements. Before he could even register the thought to move let alone breath, he felt the need to go to Peter's side right away. Already the sounds of his heated footsteps illuminated the thicket with a humming and crackling of noise, his feet shuffling underneath the dried grass that had been neglected by summers fattening rains.
The first thing that had struck his mind like a sharp blow from a swords edge was the very name of the illness that Nikolas had uttered. Ringworm. Ringworm? Ringworm.
Why hadn't he thought of it himself, why hadn't it ever occurred to him that the little boys very illness could be caused by something so simple? By something that was so easily contagious and yet easy to prevent?
Tino took a shuttered breath as he heard Nikolas's voice behind him, calling him back with a flurry of words that didn't matter anymore. Nothing mattered any more in that moment except Peter.
Poor Peter who was suffering from something that Tino had only just realized could be a possibility! Tino should have seen the signs, should have remembered the red markings that were so distinctive to the boys piteous parchment colored flesh! He should have taken more special notice of the boys discolored nails, of the overlapping of the damnable markings that resembled that of an iron branding on the British child's flesh! Tino gnashed his teeth together and swore under his breath. He should have caught the signs quicker—but he hadn't. Now he had to make it all right, he had to get to the sick child before any more harm could be done to his already fragile state. He only prayed to the Gods that he wasn't too late.
"Tino-! Tino come back!" Nikolas called to his cousin with fiery anguish, just as Tino had scavenged up the dusty and low lipped cliff, his hands all bruised and scraped, the belly and chest of his tunic skirts completely thickened and tangled with a fine layer of filth and grass stains. But still the ragged breathed Finn climbed until his right leg wrenched over the cliff's mouth, his arms gripping with all their might to a few stalks of uprooted saw grass for support, the blades of the plants slitting into his palms numbly.
All at once, his gruff grunts of anguish were met with helpful and unknown hands gripping into his arms, hauling him up onto level and solid ground, the soft grass a welcoming feel on his heated cheeks.
It was only when a few worried voice drifted into his ears that he was able to distinguish rough yet sturdy hands supporting him up, as he was undoubtedly in a sorry looking state.
"If ya' wanted ta' get up above th' cliff ya' should've asked. We'd a helped ya!" One of the soldiers laughed, helping to hold the Finn up by steadying his arms around his shoulders. Tino didn't even bother to answer nor to thank the man for hoisting him up. Instead the Finn, still set on a common goal, whipped his gaze around to face the lazily tied up ponies, their heads low to the ground, tails swishing pesky flies away from their rumps with ease.
Tino's eyes caught the sight of the heavy looking pony that he had rode up on into the forest not but a few minutes ago, animals eyes doleful, almost sleepy. Tino quickly made a dive for the animals knotted reigns, making the animal back up with hasty steps, his eyes suddenly rolling back to show a curtain of white the color of bright and polished ivory. Tino gritted his teeth and turned to one of the soldiers, his hands rammed up against the animals tossing neck.
"Un-tie him!" he spoke with fire in his breath as if he were barking out a war command. The soldier, a young jade eyed Swede balked with parted lips, his body frozen, unsure of what he should do. He looked to the other soldiers for guidance, but they were just as mildly stunned as him, their hands lightly clutching their smoking pipes or bits of their lunches—everything was quiet. Tino growled.
The young Finn then suddenly frowned and tugged at the animals bridle harshly, the pony swinging its head to knock it against the Finn's steady arm. The Icelandic pony let a low croon of a noise bellow from it's bared mouth before Tino stared straight at the soldiers, his eyes more urgent, more terrified-more cold.
"Un-tie this horse or I swear to the Gods I will have your heads mounted on a pike! I am the Damen Lejon! Or do you dare to go against me!" Tino hissed out with as much of an air of authority as he could muster. His courage was slowly sapping from his body at the thought of the poor sick child, tucked away at bed, his strength waning.
Tino wretched his hands against the nimble stitches of the saddle blanket, using the bits of the tucked leather cinch to get his bearings as he shuffled his way awkwardly on top of the animal in one piece. The dapple gray pony, frightened and undoubtedly spooked, gave a sharp buck of his head, his eyes rolling back to show that blinding white, his mouth biting painfully on the iron bit with tight chomping movements.
Suddenly the sounds of wild panting could be heard in front of Tino as Nikolas himself, burdened by a wildly crying Björt stumbled up to the clearing. The Norwegian blew the hair from his eyes with a froth of air, his eyes closed to thin slits, his mouth parted slightly to make room for breath in his lungs.
"Tino, calm down! There will be time to save him, hold on! The soldiers will take you back to the tent at a steady pace! You cannot ride such a spirited horse down such a loose graveled road!" Nikolas shouted to his cousin, his shaking hands heaving Björt up to his shoulders, the babe, swaddled in cloth, made a high pitched noise of fright.
Tino grimaced and shook his head slowly.
"By then Peter's condition will have worsened. I will not have my son die by my carelessness." Tino murmured out with a defiant breath. Nikolas's eyes widened with a shock of navy blue before he swallowed thickly, nodding to his cousin with a quick jab of his head. Nikolas knew not to go against Tino's wish this time. The Finn would have to make up his own mind this time, he would have to put his own neck on the line for something that he dearly cared about. Nikolas only hoped the young Finn could hold his fate betwixt his hands and not let it go, or else he would tumble to the ground and break in two.
Tino swallowed thickly, biting back his fear. He then turned his venomous glare over to the soldiers who were standing there puzzled, their eyes wide, hands fastened to their horses bridles, feet stuck solid to the floor as if quicksand had swept over their legs. Tino made a dull kick to the horses side, causing the animal to roll it's feet from beneath it, the horse jerking it's massive head away from the straining dogwood sapling, doing it's very best to free itself from the confusing situation.
"Have you no loyalty to your leaders Bride? Un-tie my horse!" Tino shouted over to the men with frantic eyes. The men quickly flickered their gaze over to the Finn's anger red face. Upon that wild shout, one of the men, a Dane perhaps, nodded quickly before scurrying over to the impatient Finn who was squeezing his legs into the horses sides with all his might, feeling the animal underneath him ready to buck into a fast gallop, the breathing of the animal ragged.
The man, sturdy and tall like Odin's very hall, quickly did his best to untie the strained reign's from the dogwood's bony clutch.* His hands jumbled about the cords for a mere few seconds before he hesitantly stepped back, his heels digging into the earth to steady himself from the horses persistent rearing.
Once the screaming pony was free from the young tree, the man threw the leather corded reigns over the mounts head in a movement so fast that it took Tino a second to fix his eyes on the cords before he brought them to his hands in a tight grip. Remembering what the Swedish man had said before, Tino leaned his hands closer to the heavily breathing animal, giving him an ample amount of neck room before kicking the pony in the side with the jab of his heel. The animal reeled for a few split seconds before he brought his hind legs up to jut them into the air in a fierce and quick movement, leaving the Finn airborne for the faintest of seconds before the animal's sharp hooves came back down to earth and dug themselves painfully in the pebbled and dirt laden forest ground.
Tino made a quick grab for the horses mane for balance as the animal lunged at a break neck speed to the right and onto the feathered trail, the horses surefooted steps doing little to balance Tino out on the square haunches of the gray flecked beast. Tino made a desperate tug to the left to center the horse with Mjolk's mane flush in his grip. The horses let out an annoyed snort of air before digging his back legs into the earth, making a quick turn along the skinny path that led outward from the forest.
Specks of dirt and rock flew against Tino's face in a ruthless tornado of dust. The Finn did his best to resist the urge to shield his eyes with his shoulders, for fear of falling off the spirited animal and losing an eye in the process. But, much to his desperate relief, the ponies rough gallop had taken them almost to the edge of the golden forest, closer to the village clearing, closer to Peter.
Tino allowed himself a quick gulp of the debris filled air before he spied the softening blue sky of the outward clearing hanging up above like a welcoming curtain. He gripped the reigns tighter to the ponies neck and, with a full flogging kick, edged the horse into a sweat drenching gallop that made the ponies breath race out in a flurry of foam, its eyes speckled white, neck bowed distressingly forward. Yet the white maned horse did his very best to race his heart out, as if the animal himself knew that it was a race against the clock, a race against the very essence of time its self.
…..
The soldiers watched with wild eyes as the young Swede's bride kicked up against the horse in a flurry of dust, the pine needles sputtering from the very speed of the ponies spurred gallop. Nikolas gritted his teeth with worry before he turned to two of the onlooking Swede's, their eyes fixed along the trail with hurried eyes, as if the very horses footprints had bled fire into the earth and the flames were leaping up to devour them.
"Don't just stand there! Go after him! Make sure the fool does not hurt himself!" Nikolas bit out wildly, having one of the Danish soldiers help him on his own little Fjord pony, the animal tossing it's head excitedly, it's stubby mane bristling in the wind.*
At that urgent order from the cold eyed Norwegian, the two dumbfounded Swede's nodded and quickly mounted their ponies, the animals kicking up their heads with fright, not used to being mounted so hastily. The soldiers gripped at the reigns tightly before clicking their tongues, their hands lightly slapping the rumps of their stout legged mounts with a few switches of aspen saplings.
Within a few seconds of evenly paced riding the soldiers horses were then, with an urgent cry and a smack on the rump, fixed into a hasty and sloppy gallop, their haunches glistening with a fresh layer of sweat and baking earth that clung to their lightning fast legs like thick swallowed mud.
Nikolas looked on with painful eyes as the cloud of upturned soil grew feverishly, like a giant brownish ghost moaning into the earth. He grabbed tightly at his brother swaddles and wraps and looked onward, his breath parting his lips in a silent plea, his heart racing along with the sounds of the violent horses running.
"Please Gods, please protect my foolish cousin and his new son, please. Let not harm touch them in it's hateful grasp..." Nikolas choked out, his eyes weighty and solid, like the slowly dying sun on a December morning, cold and thoughtful, hopeful yet dismal.
…
The old yet spirited gray Mjölk made a whinnied jump of his back hind legs as Tino drew him out of the scraggly and solid ground of the golden forest, the horses neck sticking out as straight as a hawks plume feathers against the wind. Tino made a half-heartened attempt to slow the horse down now that they were just about to ride through the crowded village stalls, but the small animal would pay no heed, and instead kicked up his heels faster, leaving a trail of messy flecked mud and drops of foamy sweat like dew onto the stubbed grass.
Round and round they went until they were a mere twenty feet from the hay loaded wagon that rested silently near the opened gates of the war camp, the soldiers from before languidly leaning against the coarse wood of the wagon, their eyes lazily gazing up at the sky.
Tino ground his teeth and did his best to sit up in the lumpy and stretched saddle, having to grip his legs around the horses belly tightly to keep from falling as there was no stirrups to be matched onto the horse.*
A few seconds past before the brush to the side of them erupted like a spray from the madden sea, and a whole froth of blue jays, cawing their heads off, flared up from the underlines of heather and hawthorn to fly in front of Tino's vision.
Mjolk immediately shied its head up and chomped at the bit viciously, a spray of spit and lather escaping his bared mouth like a smoky haze of stars. Tino grasped at the reigns with his right hand while clutching desperately at the horses long kept mane, the white cloud of hair running through his fingers like grainy silk. The Finnish man did his best to steady the startled animal and keep him on his course with all his might, but slowly his arms began to grow heavy and tired. Tino then tried desperately to square his sight over to the low lipped fence that was steadily coming into view. His eyes, suddenly widening, noticed with sudden horror that it was barred shut—no way of ever crossing it without stopping possible.
The Finn's heart began to beat wildly in his chest as his mind suddenly came to the conclusion that he would have to get the guards attention to open the gate, or else he would be split into several pieces by the shaven pine bows. Tino bit his lip fiercely and opened his mouth with a quick parting of sun scorched lips.
"Open the gate! Open the gate, I beg of you!" Tino shouted as loud as he could, his breath barely carrying over the tramping noise of the small ponies sharp edged hooves.
But, with a quick glance behind them, the soldiers immediately stared in shock at the sight of the young Swedish Leaders Bride galloping over the loose and stumbled terrain of the villages land, his horse brandishing his feet wildly like four deadly raised swords.
The five of them, their eyes as wide as the moon on a winter night, quickly stumbled out of the way, their hands grasping at the tug and weight of the pine laden fencing that was the only obstacle in the Finn's way that could either lead to safety or death. Tino swallowed thickly, urging with silent breath for the gawking men to move out of the way lest they wanted to be mowed down.
But suddenly and thankfully, the men, with heaving breath, bruised the fence open and dragged it over the pebbled earth, the noise from the wood grating like the tortured howls from Frenrir the wolf.*
Tino took a shuttering breath before he felt the horse, twitching his ears forward, seem to realize that the fence had been opened. Tino, still unsure of what the Hel he was doing on the back of such a fiery animal, tugged at the jingling reigns to keep the animal turned towards the fence gap—but apparently Mjolk had other plans.
Without warning the old white and gray dusted pony bellowed low in his throat and threw all his weight forward and to the left, his gait edging to a speed that might put dear Sleipnir's eight legs to shame!*
Tino swallowed his breath with a painful and winded gulp as he felt the horses legs shift underneath him to veer off course, the horse's stubborn hooves drifting closer to the wrong side of the gate!
The Finn brandished his hands upon the reign with as much strength as he could muster, but the old Icelandic pony would have none of it. Instead he snorted mockingly and threw up his head with giddy jeering.
The short legged—however fast—animal then barreled his weight straight for the fence, and to Tino's worst nightmare, was attempting to jump over it!
The Finn screamed with terror as the horse was but a few feet away from causing Tino's ultimate and painful death. The trickster pony then, with never a fleeting step, jolted it's legs upward to his breast, and leaped towards the sharply shaven boughs, the soldiers huddled away from the fence, watching with hand covered eyes.
Tino himself was shaking and bit his lips hard enough to draw blood. The Finn buried his face in the horses sweaty neck and let a silent scream stir from his lips. He shut his eyes tight and prayed to the Gods that he would not die slowly but that death would take him swiftly.
I'm going to die! I'm going to die! I'm going to-!
Stomp!
The sensation of flying. That's what death felt like. At least, that's what Tino was feeling now.
Within a few fleeting seconds the Finn's breath was ripped harshly from his throat as his eyes snapped open for the faintest of seconds, his lulled eyesight catching the glint of something the color of the bright and angry green sea.
Then he had the sudden feel of force of impact. The Finnish man was tugged forward by the power of the horses jump and his legs smacked numbly against the animals jutted limbs, his hands groping around blindly to grab at the reigns, the mane, the saddle straps-anything. But it seemed that luck was not on his side as the horses reigns seemed to have been torn from his fingers, leaving his sweating hands bare.
Tino's ears, which by now were screaming with ripping pain, heard the high pitched whine of the horses as his neck swung back from fright. The startled animal lifted up it's feet with a last surge of strength, his hooves dangling in the air like sharp flagstone. Then, with a movement so quick, the horse brought his feet to stamp dully against the hard ground, shaking Tino a bit from the saddle. Tino heard voices, a flurry of voices. Men's shouts, woman's shattered cries, children's screams, dogs yipping and horses whining, sheep bawling, ravens cawing. It was all so much noise! Noise! Noise! Noise! Too. Much. Noise!
But...
The Finn craned his head upward-at least he thought it was upward-but he really could not be sure. For all he knew his neck could have been severed from his damn shoulders!
Tino, wincing at the slight throbbing pain in the front of his head, lifted up his neck and strained his ears to listen, to try to separate the many voices that were shouting in his ear.
He was still on the horse he realized, because he could still make out the shuttering hums and vibrations of the animals breathing, Mjölk's sweat drenched body soaking through to Tino's tunic. Or maybe that was blood. His blood? The horses blood? Was he bleeding? Tino didn't think so... At least, he didn't feel like his injuries had caused him to bleed. The only thing that really hurt was his forehead and his legs...
Tino took a long sigh and concentrated again on trying to hear the voices, trying to sift through them like grainy sand through his fingers. He breathed out through his nose only to find that it hurt and stung with biting pain. He ground his teeth together and tried once again to stay focused.
Shouts... Defiantly shouts... Male. Gruff and guttered. Definitely not English. Perhaps Swedish...?
He then heard the dull sound of gravel being kicked up, heard the swishes of rope being thrown into the wind quickly, like the hiss from a snake.
He heard murmuring, soft and thick murmuring that vibrated against his skull in an almost...pleasant... hum. It sank deep into his mind and slipped against his ears like a thin veil. It was such a sweet and concentrated sound, so hushed and whispered that it was even quieter than the noise a doves wings make when they take flight.
Tino suspended his head forward and sighed out with unmatched bliss. It was a lovely sound, the sound from a persons lips... A sound that was forged out of sweet things, like flowers, honey, puppies kisses, babies laughter...It was a sound that was brimming with unleashed love.
"Hnnn..." Tino mumbled as he swallowed thickly, his mouth tasting bitter, like dirt.
The horse had stopped his trembling by now and Tino could now make out the sensation that the beast was moving again, slowly, in tight circles. Tino could hear the clipped noise of the horses strained legs trot hastily over the grooved and dusty ground. Someone was leading the horses by the reigns.
Tino furrowed his brows over his closed eyes before he grabbed enough strength to lift his head up again, his palms sliding over to the horses breast, trying to settle himself. He strained his neck up and was about to open his eyes when his head began to throb uncontrollably. He gasped from pain and rolled his head downward, the pressure just too much to bare. Suddenly his chin hit against the animals feverishly warm skin, right along the taunt bone and muscles of Mjölk's neck, making his teeth snap against each other agonizingly. He made a small groan as his jaw tingled with slowly forming pain, un-clenching his hands around the horses hot flesh.
He heard the same patient and loving voice from before coo softly to either him or the horse, he wasn't sure. But before he could think much more on it, he felt someone tug on the now rigid cords connected to the horses bit, like a freshly tightened bow. Opening his eyes slowly with confusion his hazy gaze rested on a shinny and very sweat slicked chest of a man. Tino lulled his head backward and gave a sultry grin, his hazy eyes flickering over to the powerfully built chest that was leaning over him. It was ivory smooth, with a few lines of pink scars that heightened its lusty appearance. Tino had the sudden urge to grab for that heated and toned flesh.
"I must be...dead..." Tino murmured out with the faintest flicker of laughter. The Finn felt two strong and solid arms heave him up from the winded horse and lay him against the nice expanse of warm skin that breathed against the Finn.
"Not dead..." A gruff voice mumbled.
Tino laughed abruptly. "No..." He heaved his head backward to let a few more giggles flee from his lips. He felt drunk, dizzy, and much too happy. Was this what dead felt like?
"I must be dead because why else would the handsome God Balder come to take me to the hall of Valhalla?"*Tino murmured out with playful dizziness, his head still hurting from the horses fretful jump.
The arms around Tino's waist hesitated and went rigid a bit, as if the person was a somewhat dumbfounded at Tino's reasoning. But, within a few seconds the fingers that lightly squeezed and held up Tino's hips threw their weight up and collapsed Tino into the mysterious man's arms, heaving the aching Finn up bridle style.
Tino's grin faltered for a brief second as his legs slowly extended into the air with a sharp ache, but soon those strong arms smoothed and steadied him and he was able to catch his breath.
His hands slid a bit greedily over his rescuers shoulders in a sneaky attempt to run his hands over those taunt and powerful muscles. Tino was more than convinced that he was dead, so what did it matter if he felt up one of the Gods? Could anyone really blame him? The body in front of him was just too delicious and sexy to resist!
Tino giggled again, not even bothering to un-train his eyes from that marvelously smooth chest that his body was pressed up against. He fumbled his hands over the mysterious mans arms, pinching slightly against the skin and the bulging muscles, making the man grumbled a bit. But what did Tino care? He was dead!
"C'lm down... M'ght get a concussion if ya' m've too much..." A rough and worried voice fluttered over Tino's ears. The Finn made a dismissive sound with his mouth, a quick sucking of air that made his face drain of more color. He waved his hand around near his face like a drunken sailor.
Tino was about to protest or come up with a half-assed witty remark when he felt his eye sight spot into colors of blues and off-shades of purple.
"Oh...Ow..." Tino moaned, his throat hurting now as well. His vision was getting blurrier and blurrier. The overbearing sun above made his vision turn a sharp red behind his eyes and it pained his sight immensely.
"I...Ow...Ow!" Tino made a move to grab at his head, to rub his straining shut eyes, to try to alleviate some of the pain.
"Don't let him shake his head, he could faint..." Said a thin and dull voice that sounded strangely like Nikolas. Tino bit his lip and moaned louder, the pain coursing through his head like a herd of reindeer tramping through his mind!
"T'no...T'no... Can ya' hear meh?"
Tino groaned and tried to throw his head back, but something solid and warm stopped him, a hand perhaps.
"T'no, lay still... It'll be alr'ght, you'll be ok, I'll m'ke sure of it, m'w'fe..." The same gruff voice from before whispered soothingly into his ears. Tino growled out and furrowed his brow, the pain making it harder and harder to even form words let alone sentences.
"I'm...not...your...w-wife...!" Tino gasped out with sudden defiance, still not really sure who he was talking to. He took a final shaky breath before he slowly laid his head back and his vision dipped into a blackness that swelled around his head like ice cold water.
…
Short chapter I know! Sorry!
Authors Notes:
–The man, sturdy and tall like Odin's very hall, quickly did his best to untie the strained reign's from the dogwood's bony clutch.*-Odin was the main God in Norse mythology.
-Nikolas bit out wildly, having one of the Danish soldiers help him on his own little Fjord pony, the animal tossing it's head excitedly, it's stubby mane bristling in the wind.* -Fjord is an old pony bred in Norway.
-Tino ground his teeth and did his best to sit up in the lumpy and stretched saddle, having to grip his legs around the horses belly tightly to keep from falling as there was no stirrups to be matched onto the horse.* -Vikings did not have stirrups on their saddles.
-But suddenly and thankfully, the men, with heaving breath, bruised the fence open and dragged it over the pebbled earth, the noise from the wood grating like the tortured howls from Frenrir the wolf.*-Frenrir is the son of Loki and is a wolf that the Gods bound by chains. Only the end of the world will free him so that he can wreck havoc.
-Without warning the old white and gray dusted pony bellowed low in his throat and threw all his weight forward and to the left, his gait edging to a speed that might put dear Sleipnir's eight legs to shame!*-Sleipnir was Odin's horse and he had eight legs.
-"I must be dead because why else would the handsome God Balder come to take me to the hall of Valhalla?"*-Hall of the Slain in Norse mythology. Balder is the Norse God of beauty who was killed accidentally killed by his own brother by Loki's mischief.