It had been a long hard battle. Bodies now lay sprawled out on the sand. One figure sat tall, atop their Slepinir. It's fur as black as the night sky, a Norse rune had been branded into its flank. The rider was dressed in thick black armour and a hood covered their hood but all that could be seen were tendrils of gold. Tiny braids littered their golden mane and were decorated with bones and beads, their cloak fell over the rear of their beast. They gingerly rode through the blood flooded battlefield, the viper tattoos on their arms also visible.

Their beast threw his head up and stamped his hooves impatiently. "Easy boy," they said and ran a hand down their horse's neck. Just as they were about to turn tail and leave they heard the wheezing of a survivor, they walked to the cliff's edge where they saw an injured warrior. His long red hair soaked with crimson and his leather armour tattered. The rider dismounted with one swift motion of their leg over their horses head.
They landed with a thud, their boots sinking into the wet field.

They began to chant while taking their axe from their back, as they finished they swung their axe down into the warrior's chest. He bit his tongue and didn't make a sound as he slipped away into Valhalla. "May you be free brother," they said and mounted their Slepinir once again and rode off. But just as they were leaving another figure emerged they had been hiding from her. Once the hoofbeats were no more and she disappeared.
Bjorn, the young chieftain.

The sides of his head cropped short the rest of his long hair was tied in a tight braid that slithered down his back. A thick beard was decorated with beads and was finely groomed. His armour dark brown, worn and bloodstained. His axe blunt and chipped. His shield bent and broken, he threw it to one side and looked around him he was now the only survivor. A great wound poured from his shoulder, he clasped a hand over it and winced.

The cold wind bit into his being even his muscle was no match for the cold.
He stumbled across the empty, silent battlefield and to the camp that was now filled with the cries of the suffering. He walked into his tent that was at the very end of the camp, his shieldmaiden was waiting for him. "Bjorn!" She exclaimed, "I didn't expect you to be in such a state."

"Nor did I," he sighed as he collapsed down on the stall in pain. She began to unbuckle his armour and slide it off gently, she took the cauldron off the fire and grabbed a cloth and cleaned his wound. He hissed every now and then.

"Don't be such a baby," she said and kissed his lips gently, he looked away for a second ignoring her words. "You saw her didn't you?"

"Her?" He inquired.

"The Maiden of Death," she said.

"You're lucky to escape her, did she take a life?" Freya asked.

"Yes she did," he replied and dropped his head ignoring the pain of his wound.

"Who?" she asked looking at him and tipped his head up to look at her.

"It was Agnar," he replied sadly.

"We will have to give him a proper funeral," she said.

"You don't weep for your own brother?" he took the cloth from her hand and placed it into the bowl of water.

"He was a fool, he was weak, the runt of the family. The Maiden of Death did him a favour," she said standing up, walking over to the window and crossed her arms over her torso.

"You know that's not true," he hissed, he stood and walked over to her, he carefully wrapped his arms around her waist and rested his head on her shoulder.

"I meant every word," she sighed, her voice broke. She turned in his arms and let her tears free.

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The fallen souls followed the Maiden her Sleipnir neighed lowly. The souls were cleansed of the blood that had tarnished their armour. All memories of their final battle lost to the spiritual world. They followed her like a shepherd, the sun glowed brightly emitting no heat its rays glinted off the golden bridge leading to Valhalla and to the feasting hall of Odin. Her horses hooves thudded against the golden bridge in comparison to those of the fallen. Water collected from the several waterfalls under the bridge and flowed downstream to the grazing horses who also passed on.

As they reached the other end of the bridge she handed the souls over to another Maiden of Death, her great stag calling loudly and threw his head back. "Take them to the hall and present them before Odin," she nodded and looked over the crowd of men.

"Where is Bjorn?" she asked.

"He slipped my gaze, but his time will come again, Odin will be sure of it," she said and turned her horse around heading back over the bridge. She disappeared in the fog and landed back on the battlefield, scowering it one last time.

Bjorn laid on his bed, Hilda cuddled in his arms her tears had ceased a long time ago. He stared up at the ceiling, the cold breeze blew into his window gently. The chill that passed over the house was familiar to him, she was looking for him. The horse's hooves thundered against the ground announcing her presence. He took a deep shaky breath, he prayed to Odin, Thor and Freya.

The Maiden sat up straight in her saddle, she gently tugged on the reins and her horse halted outside his door. He gently laid Hilda down on the bed and crept towards the window, he could see the breath of the rider and her horse, as well as the torch, burning in her hand, the blue flames danced over her skull mask her hood had fallen down many paces ago. Bjorn was the first man to lay his eyes on her. She turned her head feeling his eyes on her. He ducked under the frame before his eyes could meet hers.

She sighed, shrugged her shoulders, nudged her Sleipnir in the ribs and continued her search.