My hair is a sea of belligerent tendrils springing forth from my skull like thoughts escaping a meat grinder. My nails protrude like broken tree bark from my stone-like ice cracked fingers. Frost clings to my beard like moss to a wizened tree.
The axe at my side can cleave through men as a ship cuts through water. My eyes glow faintly, like the coals of a dying campfire. Wispy smoke trails from my mouth as breath escapes my body and is swallowed by the star strewn air.
As the coals of the others are shrouded by fleshy lids, I tread back and forth under the night sky. Ever guarding our longboat, so that we may be carried away on her once again. Sleep beckons and pleads to me, but my axe is nothing more than dead weight in the battle I must fight.
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