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One by one they returned, bloodied and broken. It was only the mad resolve that kept them going, though now they felt hate as he knew it. Now they understood, if they had not before, what they were dealing with. Savages who brutalized their victims. He heard whispers of torture. Eyes that belonged to him saw the dead on pikes.
He had expected losses. They all had. Yet to hear that his son, his only true son, had been cut down by a Goliath of a wolf filled Henrik with a black rage he had not felt in years. This was what he had wanted. To feel, to truly feel as he had not felt in an age. A fire burnt deep in his belly and cast a great and terrible shadow over the camp.
Henrik’s dreams were full of blood and fire, and in them, he was laughing.
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