4th day of Amberfall, 1373

The morning sun kissed the treetops, casting dappled light through the thick canopy of the Eldergrove, where the scent of damp earth mingled with the sharp tang of sap. The occasional twitter of birdsong echoed amongst the branches while squirrels chased each other across thick boughs.

Serrandyl stood at the edge of the training ground, her tail flicking back and forth as she watched Thorsten perform his morning exercises. The Hrafnstennian warrior grunted as he went through the motions—twisting, ducking, and pivoting in sync with the imaginary foe before him. The sound of his breathing filled the air between his grunts. Beads of sweat trickled down his face as he continued his routine without pause.

Today was the day—today, Serrandyl would challenge him and make her intentions clear. It wasn't glory or victory she sought. No, today she wanted something far more elusive: Thorsten's attention.

She cracked her neck and rolled her shoulders, glancing over at her father, Argoran, who stood at the edge of the yard with his arms crossed, a bemused smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. When he noticed her watching, he gave her a nod before walking away. Her gaze followed his retreating form until he disappeared into the treeline.

With a sigh, she turned back to watch Thorsten once more. He'd paused momentarily to stretch his arms above his head and catch his breath.

"Thorsten!" she called out as she strode toward him. "Let's spar."

Thorsten straightened up and raised an eyebrow at her approach. "Sure," he replied warily. "How do you want to do this?"

She flexed her fingers, adjusting the fit of her gauntlets that protected her claws. She knew he wouldn't back down from a challenge—he'd never refused before. But she couldn't help feeling anxious nonetheless.

"You have your axes. I'll use my fists," she declared with a determined grin. "First one knocked out or unable to continue loses."

Thorsten stood across from her, a hulking figure of rust-colored hair and thick muscles, his broad frame dwarfing hers. His beard hung loose and unbraided over his chest. Serrandyl licked her lips nervously. She'd never seen him look so intimidating before.

He gave her a hard look. "You really want to give more work for our healers today, don't you?" he asked dryly. Then he shrugged. "All right. If you're sure. You sure you want to use those normal gauntlets?"

Using her Gauntlets of the Storm Giant proved an advantage against Thorsten. The boost in strength alone would help tip the odds in her favor. But she wanted this to be a fair fight—she didn't want to cheat. This time at least.

Besides, he was also using a normal axe.

"Don't worry," she assured him. "I'll be fine. Besides, I want to test how much I've improved without them."

Serrandyl clenched her fists tighter, trying to ignore the butterflies fluttering in her stomach. She wasn't sure why she was nervous—they'd sparred countless times before—but this time felt different.

"Ready, old man?" she teased, bouncing lightly on the balls of her feet. "Or do you need a bit longer to get those creaky joints in order?"

"Oi! Who're you callin' old?!" Thorsten growled playfully as he twirled his axe around. "I'm nowhere near past my prime yet!"

Serrandyl's grin widened, her sharp teeth gleaming. She liked that fire in him. It reminded her of why she'd set her sights on him in the first place. A mate should be strong, unyielding, someone who could stand against her own fiery temper and not break under pressure. She didn't want a pretty boy or a whiner. She wanted a partner who could challenge her in every way.

And Thorsten had never failed to meet her expectations in that regard. He was strong enough to handle her—physically and emotionally—and he had a quick wit to boot.

She crouched low, circling him slowly. The grass rustled beneath her feet as she moved. Her tail twitched behind her.

He watched her closely, holding his axe loosely in one hand while keeping his body relaxed and loose. His stance changed subtly as she moved closer—slight adjustments to the placement of his feet, the angle of his hips—but she didn't fail to notice them.

She lunged first, closing the distance between them with a speed that caught most opponents off guard. But Thorsten wasn't most opponents. He sidestepped her strike with a practiced ease, his axe coming down in a slow arc that forced her to duck and roll to the side. She sprang to her feet and whirled around to face him, blocking his follow-up swing with crossed forearms.

Sparks flew as his axe scraped across her gauntlets. Her arms vibrated from the force of the blow. He wasn't pulling any punches today. Good.

"Too slow," Thorsten chuckled, planting his axe on the ground and leaning on it like a walking stick. "You're off your game today."

Serrandyl hissed angrily as she leapt forward, her claws slashing at his chest. He brought his free arm up to deflect her attack, but she managed to graze his shoulder. He grunted in pain and stepped back.

She pressed her advantage, continuing her assault with renewed vigor. Her attacks came fast and furious—jabbing, slashing, clawing at any exposed skin she could reach. Thorsten deflected each one with ease, his axe moving with the precision of a man who had been born to the weapon. But he didn't counterattack—instead, he stayed on the defensive. Serrandyl didn't let up for a second. If he wouldn't engage her, she'd keep pushing until he had no choice but to strike back.

And she did—right after he failed to block her punch. The blow connected squarely with his jaw, sending him reeling backwards. She followed through by grabbing hold of his arm and swinging herself around his body until she stood behind him. In one fluid motion, she wrapped an arm around his throat and squeezed tight.

"Gotcha," she whispered in his ear. Her legs locked around his waist, pulling him closer against her chest. Her free hand gripped his wrist tightly to prevent him from moving his axe. "You're mine."

Thorsten struggled against her hold, twisting his neck to try and break free. Serrandyl tightened her grip. If she could keep him pinned for a few more seconds, she'd have him—

Suddenly, he dropped his axe and threw himself backwards. They fell together onto the grass, his body landing on top of hers. The impact knocked the wind out of her lungs and sent them both tumbling in a tangle of limbs.

The fight devolved into a frantic grappling match as they wrestled each other to the ground over and over again. They rolled around in the dirt until Serrandyl managed to pin Thorsten beneath her. She straddled his chest, using her weight to keep him immobilized. Her tail flicked from side to side as she grinned triumphantly at her victory.

"Well? Are you ready to admit defeat yet?" she panted. Her voice came out breathless and husky—a result of their scuffle. "Or should I keep going until I break a rib or two?"

As soon as Thorsten heard the word "defeat," he responded with a deafening roar that reverberated through the training grounds and echoed off the trees. Serrandyl winced and clapped her hands over her ears.

Thorsten took advantage of her momentary distraction and rolled them both over, reversing their positions. Now he had her pinned beneath him. She let out an undignified yelp as she struggled futilely against his grip. Her claws dug into his skin as she tried to push him off her. But his strength proved too great for her to overcome. Eventually, she stopped struggling and accepted her fate.

"Fine," she huffed, her cheeks burning hotter than usual. "You win. Now get off me."

Thorsten released her wrists and stood up, brushing the dirt from his pants.

"That was fun," he chuckled, rubbing his jaw gingerly where she'd punched him. "You've gotten better at hand-to-hand combat."

Serrandyl propped herself up on her elbows and stared up at him through narrowed eyes. Her tail twitched irritably as she watched him pick up his axe and start walking away. He turned back after a few steps to give her a wry smile.

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"Let's spar again soon," he said before turning to leave. "Until then."

Serrandyl flopped back onto the grass with a frustrated growl. She'd planned this fight so carefully—had spent days rehearsing every move, every counterattack—and yet she'd still lost. It wasn't supposed to end like this! She hadn't even gotten a chance to show off her moves properly.

How was she supposed to woo him if she couldn't even win a single sparring match? He'd called her moves predictable, too slow, and obvious. Did that mean he didn't think she could keep up with him? Was he already bored of her? Was this the beginning of the end?

She groaned and pressed the heels of her palms against her eyelids. What a mess.

"That went well," came a voice from above. Serrandyl turned her head and saw Argoran standing beside her, his arms folded across his chest as he looked down at her with a knowing smile. "You still have time to try again tomorrow...and the day after."

Serrandyl sat up abruptly and scowled at her father. "Thanks for the vote of confidence," she muttered. She climbed to her feet and brushed herself off. Her tail twitched in agitation. "I'm going hunting." Without another word, she stalked away into the woods.

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Thorsten sat in the corner of the feast hall, the sturdy oak table creaking slightly under the weight of his large frame. The hall was alive with the sounds of laughter, clinking tankards, and the smell of roasted meats wafting through the air. Flames danced in the large central hearth, casting flickering shadows on the long tables laden with roasted meats, fresh bread, and tankards of mead.

It was a typical night in Ebonheim, the kind Thorsten enjoyed most—comfortable, familiar, and free from unnecessary complications.

He took a long draught from his mug of mead, savoring the sweet, earthy flavor as it slid down his throat. There was a certain satisfaction in it, the way it warmed his belly after a hard day's work. He didn't need much more than that—a good fight, a good drink, and the camaraderie of his fellow warriors. That was enough.

Around him, the townsfolk swapped stories of the day's hunts, celebrated minor victories, and let loose in the company of friends. Thorsten watched them all with a contented smile, feeling at peace in the midst of the revelry.

That peace, however, was short-lived.

Bjorn Hjelmstad, his old friend and fellow warrior, plopped down beside him with all the subtlety of a charging ox. He clapped Thorsten on the shoulder so hard that he nearly toppled off his bench.

"Ho there!" Bjorn laughed as Thorsten regained his balance. "You look like a man in need of company."

"I was perfectly content sitting here alone," Thorsten grumbled good-naturedly. He took another sip of mead and shrugged. "But I suppose I could stand to listen to your stories for a bit."

Bjorn grinned broadly and raised his mug in salute. "I'll drink to that!" He took a hearty swig before setting the mug down and leaning back against the wall behind them. "So how have things been with you lately? Keeping busy?"

Thorsten glanced at him from the corner of his eye. Bjorn seemed more chipper than usual, his eyes sparkling with mirth. He'd clearly enjoyed himself today. "Yeah, well...you know how it is," Thorsten replied evasively. "What about you? Anything interesting happen today?"

Bjorn's grin widened further. "You could say that. Got myself a bit of good news earlier this afternoon. Figured I'd celebrate with a round or two."

Thorsten arched an eyebrow and eyed his friend suspiciously. "Really? What sort of good news?"

"Sæunn is due to have our second child come spring," Bjorn announced proudly. "We're hoping for another boy."

Thorsten paused mid-sip and lowered his mug slowly to the table. The news wasn't all that unexpected given how often Bjorn spent time with his wife, but still, it surprised Thorsten nonetheless.

"That's...well, congratulations! I guess this calls for a proper toast!"

Thorsten lifted his mug into the air and Bjorn copied the motion. They clanked the wooden cups together, spilling liquid over the sides as they did.

"To the birth of your second child!" Thorsten exclaimed loudly. "May they grow up to be as strong and stubborn as you!"

Bjorn threw his head back and laughed heartily, attracting attention from the other patrons nearby. They joined in the toasting and celebrating for a moment before returning to their own conversations.

Bjorn nudged Thorsten playfully. "Speaking of children and such, what of you? Any plans of starting a family yourself? You're not getting any younger. Might wanna hurry up before your balls dry up."

Thorsten scowled and gave Bjorn a gentle shove. "Oi. Don't you start that again, you old dog. I've got plenty of years ahead of me yet. Besides...finding someone I'm willing to settle down with isn't easy."

He wasn't lying. It wasn't easy. But it never seemed worth the trouble either. His duties took up too much time to worry about trying to romance someone.

Bjorn chuckled, shaking his head. "You always say that, Thorsten. But you're getting on in years. You're what—pushing forty now? Maybe it's time you started thinking about settling down. Or are you planning to spend the rest of your life swinging that axe of yours with no one to come home to?"

Thorsten smirked, leaning back against the wall behind him. "And what's wrong with that? The axe hasn't failed me yet. And neither has my bed, empty as it may be. I've got the town, the hunt, the battle. That's enough for me."

Bjorn snorted. "Aye, you've got the town. But that doesn't warm your bed on cold nights, does it?"

Thorsten rolled his eyes. "If I needed warmth, I'd sleep closer to the fire. Besides, I've got plenty of furs to keep me warm."

"Furs don't talk back," Bjorn said, waggling his eyebrows suggestively. He elbowed Thorsten sharply in the ribs, causing him to choke on his drink. "Or maybe that's what you like about them, eh? No one to argue with, no one to nag you about this or that."

Thorsten chuckled despite himself. "You're not wrong there. Peace and quiet are underrated."

"But don't you ever think about it?" Bjorn pressed. "A family of your own? Someone to fight alongside you, not just on the battlefield, but in life? Someone to share all the joys and sorrows of living? A wife. Children?"

Thorsten paused, his gaze drifting to the fire pit at the center of the hall. The flames danced and crackled, their light casting flickering shadows on the walls.

There had been moments in his life where he had considered taking the plunge. Moments where his thoughts briefly turned towards that idea. A wife. Children. A family. It wasn't such an unappealing thought. Just...one that required work. And effort. Not to mention a lot of time dedicated to making another person happy.

"Maybe once," Thorsten admitted after a moment. "But not anymore. I've got my place here, and that's enough."

Bjorn raised an eyebrow. "So there's not a single woman in this town who could catch your eye? Not even one?"

Thorsten shrugged, taking another sip from his mug. "If there is, I haven't noticed. Most of the women here are married or spoken for in one way or another."

"What about Ingrid?" Bjorn asked. "She's still unattached, isn't she?"

"You realize she considers us her elder brothers, don't you?" Thorsten countered with a smirk. "That would make any sort of courtship highly improper."

Bjorn nodded solemnly. "True. But she's a fine shield-maiden in her own right. It'd take someone damn strong to win her favor."

"I heard from Ebonheim that she saw Ingrid spending quite some time with Roderick's bodyguard as of late. His name...what was it again?" Thorsten pretended to ponder the question for a brief moment before snapping his fingers. "Ah yes! Simon. That's his name. He's a quiet one. Keeps mostly to himself. I've hardly spoken with him myself. But he's quite skilled with the sword."

"Really? They seemed close?"

"Intimate," Thorsten said. "The town gossipers have a few rumors swirling around."

A thoughtful expression settled on Bjorn's face. "Hmm, in any case. Where were? Ah... someone that could catch your eye. Come now, Thorsten. If you could have your pick, what would she be like? Humor me, old friend."

Thorsten sighed, setting his mug down on the table and rubbing a hand through his beard. He knew Bjorn wouldn't let this go until he answered, so he might as well indulge him.

"All right," Thorsten began, his voice thoughtful. "If I were to consider it—which I'm not, mind you—but if I were, she'd have to be strong. Not just in body, but in spirit. A woman who can stand on her own two feet, who doesn't need to be coddled or protected. Someone who understands what it means to fight, to struggle, and who doesn't shy away from it."

Bjorn's grin widened. "Go on."

Thorsten scratched at the scar on his chin, his brow furrowing as he thought. "She'd need to be independent. Someone who doesn't rely on others to define her, but who knows who she is and what she wants. A woman with fire in her belly, who can challenge me and keep me on my toes.”

Bjorn chuckled, nodding along. "Sounds like you're describing a warrior."

"Maybe I am," Thorsten said with a smirk. "Someone who can hold their own in a fight, who doesn't flinch at the sight of blood or the sound of battle. But she'd also have to be more than that. She'd need to have a sense of humor, be able to laugh in the face of danger, and not take life too seriously."

Bjorn leaned back, folding his arms across his broad chest. "Sounds like you've got someone in mind already."

Thorsten frowned, shaking his head. "I don't, Bjorn. Like I said, it's just… an idea. A dream, maybe. But nothing real."

Bjorn's eyes twinkled with amusement as he leaned forward again. "You sure about that? Because from where I'm sitting, it sounds an awful lot like you're describing Serrandyl."

Thorsten nearly choked on his drink. He coughed roughly, pounding his chest with one fist while holding up a finger at Bjorn to indicate he needed a moment. After he regained control of his airways and calmed himself down enough to speak again, he narrowed his eyes. "Where did you get an idea like that?"

The older man chuckled low and deep in his throat. "Oh come now. You can't tell me you haven't noticed how she's always watching you whenever you're around. The way she follows after you when we go out to hunt. How she challenges you in combat, always tries to catch your eye, to get your attention."

"You think she's...fond of me?" Thorsten asked in disbelief.

"No, Thorsten. I think she'd like nothing more than for you to bed her senseless."

Thorsten spat out another mouthful of mead.