WHERE THE CROWS LIE. | TREMORS | OPEN RESCUE THREAD

[BLOODHOUND.]

Bloodhound was no stranger to death. From the first day that they spent with their uncle, days after their parents deaths, he had taught them the most humane way to kill a rabbit. They had shaken and cried at the thought, seeing the wounded little creature, bleeding out before them. It struggled in their hands, blood pooling and rolling between their small fingers. Their uncle had taken the broken little creature from them, and in a swift tug underfoot, separated its skull from its spine. He looked at Bloodhound, as if they themself were the one to be pitied, an expression they hadn't forgotten.

They had driven away the Goliath from their home and their people, they had been deemed Bloth Hoondr in a dying breath, from the man they had fought so hard to please.

They had honed their abilities, for both hunting and in battle, had killed fellow Legends hundreds of times. Their hands were always quick. Respectful. They were not here to cause suffering. Blood itself, the final blow, was enough. They held this ideal close to their heart, as they laid their foes low with skill and a sure hand. Methodical. Placing them to rest with their weapons in hand.

Hoping to see them too in Valhalla, dining alongside their uncle, when the Gods willed their own departure.

They did not have enemies, so much as they kept the memory of those that made the fight enjoyable. Andskoti was not something they spat in derision, but something that had the thrill of the hunt deeply tied to it.

They did not get far, or search for long, before they heard the crumbling of another home, the distant sounds of others being ushered out, of a yelp. Of flesh and bone being crushed under rubble. They froze, and the raven above them cawed, swooping down to land amongst the rubble. They followed its path, finding a collapsed home, the occupants running to the square. And yet...

They could see fur, beneath rock and wood and frame and hearth.

Worry filled their eyes as the dust from the collapse filled their lungs, and they're halfway through a coughing fit before they start to frantically dig and tear through the remnants of the home. They're panting and gasping for breath by the time they can see her face, their paws and gums full of grit and splinters. The dog didn't respond, limp, but her breath was very light. They attempted to get a grip on the scruff of her neck, and tug her free of the debris, but their initial efforts were in vain. They kept trying to clear the rubble, as the raven caws.

"You will not get this one." they hiss to the carrion bird, their mother tongue sharp, admonishing the hungry creature. This was not a hunt.

They eventually clear the rubble away from the dog, her body so small compared them. Bloodhounds heart lurches painfully in their chest at the sight. They're careful, as they gently take her by the scruff again, clearing the way with their massive paws. They pulled her from the broken home, hoping that the Allfather was watching.

THE TRUE TEST IS BEFORE THE ALLFATHER.