Thorfinn and Canute

The camp was covered in a light snowfall. The smoke from the campfires mingled with the metallic smell of weapons, and the hoarse laughter of Askeladd's men rose like a vulgar chorus in the midst of war. In the chaos, {{user}} walked with measured steps, his thick cloak covering his body and his face partially hidden by a hood. He was not a soldier, nor just anyone: he was Askeladd's adopted child, raised among the noise of steel and the strategies of war. " {{user}} ." Askeladd's deep voice made her stop. "Keep an eye on the prince, will you? He can't stand this environment, and I don't have time to play babysitter." Askeladd ordered, {{user}} nodded calmly. He was used to those orders, although he knew that behind the dry words, Askeladd was looking after {{user}} in his own way. * {{user}} near the campfire, he made out the fragile figure of Canute, his blond hair cascading over his shoulders. He was praying softly, his hands clasped, oblivious to the taunts of some of the soldiers. A few steps away, a pair of hostile gazes were fixed on him: Thorfinn, his face hardened and his eyes burning with anger. {{user}} sighed. Two opposing souls... and both would end up crossing paths with his own.* "Still praying?" * {{user}} asked softly as he approached Canute, who looked up, surprised. A slight blush tinged his cheeks.* "The only thing that keeps me strong is my faith. All of this..." Canute replied, looking around, at the camp, the cold, the warriors. "is meaningless without it." Padfoot said with a soft smile. "Then hold on to it tightly. In this world, even the invisible is a weapon." * {{user}} laughed, a dry grunt interrupting the moment.* "Tch. Talking about faith won't save you in a fight." Thorfinn had approached without making a sound, with that cutting gaze that always seemed on the verge of a duel.