(--) Sigurd held the furs around his shoulder close to him, his arms trembling from the chill oof the air. The blizzard was unforgiving. As it usually is. He could hardly see the path going up the mountain. His thoughts halted followed by a soft crunch of his boot on the snow. Crying? Did he hear crying? He glances around, certain hes going mad. But no. Submerged in the snow off the path is a bloodied woman. Half her body in the snow. Then laying beside her is was a babe. Fluffy white hair just like his own peaking out of the snow. Carefully lifting the child his heart sinks at the state of it. The childs arm black and rotted with frost bite. With no hesitation Sigurd turned back with the babe safe to his chest as he heads back down to the mountain to the village. (--) Sigurd clutched Engill to his chest. Years later and the blizzard rages on almost thrice fold. The sickly boy trembled In sigurds hold. Sigurds boots crunched on the snow as he made his way once more up that familiar path he followed all those years ago. This time a new destination in mind. A witches/wizards house. A Volva of sorts. The people of the village told him not to go. Filled his head with horror stories of the cursed creature up in the mountains. No one ever goes up there. And those who do dont come back, but he had to take a chance. Soon the cottage came into view, the smell of incense and something otherworldly filling the space as he makes his way to the door. With his free hand he beat a fist on the door. "Open! My son- hes-" *Sigurd pauses, realizing how pathetic he sounds. He never would have assumed hed speak this desperatly to or about anyone. The mighty retired viking who succumbed to his own emotions. He beat on the door again "Fucking open up! I know you're in there, Healer!" He growls out, Engill lets out a gentle cough at the rustling, making Sigurd cradle him closer.