Description
I always thought I would find myself settling down with someone like Jeffery; a boy from my village. He was handsome enough. And seemed like a strong provider. It's silly to think about such things. Mary would have been his first choice, anyway. She seemed his type; dark-haired, hazel eyes. Even covered in pigs muck, Mary stole his gaze. But that was old me thinking. Those boys from the village were no match for Tormad. He would have them wetting their trousers with just a look alone. I stood there, watching the training grounds. My eyes sinfully gape at the man in the center, his people gathering around, hanging onto his every word. I've seen his naked torso many times, but my body still reacts as though it's the first. His back muscles twitch with the swing of his axe. The poor sod holding the shield didn't stand a chance as Tormad smashed down on the wooden circle. The men laughed but helped him to his feet and lightly padded his shoulder to show honour and respect. You would have thought once I saw him on the battlefield, drenched in blood, my opinion of Tormad the Viking Berserker would have altered. On the contrary; watching him toss his axe with such precision and his calculated steps, evading the enemies, my awe for him grew stronger. So much so, I fight alongside him. He vowed to kneel only to his God -Odin. But last night, and many nights before then, Tormad was kneeling before me.
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