Deaths reach was eternal.
The white wolf found you no matter how far you ran. No matter what land you called home. No matter how much you carved your own face. Always she would find you, and always she would drag you back to her den like a wayward cub.
His father had told him that.
Ivar still remembered the words, still remembered looking down on the frail old man that had once been a mighty warrior. He could still see the hurt in the man's eyes, the constant struggle that he'd fought. His death had been a release, a way out of the tragedy that had been his life. Ivar had known it then, even though he had been but seventeen.
Now it seemed the same was dated for him. A release from a life of hardships. He had left his home, fled to join the mercenary bands and fought his way across continents. There had been love, there had been adventure, but always there had been pain. Yet here he was. Here he stood. The White Wolf coming for his soul.
He had accepted it, resigned himself to it.
Until he saw her.
It wasn't her face that drew his eyes. It was the bruises or the way she walked. It was her hair. He remembered that hair, it's silvery white, the odd way it flowed in the wind. He had seen it before, more than once. Yet the way it moved in that moment, it was just like that day.
His gaze caught
Willa's, and in a second that felt like an hour he processed everything he saw. The splotches of blue on her face, the split lip, the slight crest of blood that still stained her neck. Most importantly he saw the man holding her with a vice like grip, pressing the soft cloth into her arm.
The pieces fell into place, and rage spiked within him.
There was a guard that stepped towards him, a figure moving on the other side of them.
Ivar didn't really think about what he did next, he only acted. Rage and anger overwhelmed him, and his manacles hands reached out. The chain lashed forward, snapping around the neck of one guard and dragging him into his grasp. He gripped the man, reaching down and chomping down upon his throat like an animal. Blood sprayed out and down his chest from the wound, the man letting out a scream of agony as Ivar grasped his neck and wrenched it to the side.
Horror and screaming erupted from the crowd as Ivar threw the now dead guard Into them, another man stepping forward with a sword drawn.
People began to run as the Barbarian grappled with his captors, slamming his forehead into the guards uncovered face and sending him reeling back. Willa and Rhist would find themselves jostled and nearly thrown as the people around them began to do their best to get away from the suddenly raging Ivar.
