Beserking
Clashing swords, battle cries, axes flinging around in circles like leafs falling from trees. The smell of blood and death lingering in the air around them. This is war. This is where they felt at ease. Their own life fluid boiling in their veins, faces flushed and voices starting to become hoarse. A grin appears on Denmark's face as he sees his favourite Viking fighting, graceful like a cat. Moving around as if he is dancing, Norway brings down man after man, his sword seemingly moving on its own. Death cries roll over the fields, fly into the sky, to meet among the stars and stay there forever. The nightly light illuminates the red snow, red because of the many, many men that lost their lives to the two beserking nations. For a brief moment, the taller one just appreciates the glory his partner emits, how it seems like the small country is in his element while killing and slaughtering everything that stands between him and his goal. Before someone else can take advantage of his absent-mindedness, Denmark turns around and strengthens the grip on his battle axe. His anger is fuelled again; he is ready to charge.
It's really short, but it's something. And it's late, one day... Sorry
~Hana