Seppo had his featherstaff out and was quickly rushing in and out from underneath the bird, avoiding the legs as much as he could as they swatted at him and made large craters in the ground while doing so. Every so often, he got a hit and the bird would shriek but thankfully not the shriek we were fighting to keep it away from. The shrieks to start Fimbulwinter were alleged to shake the very ground and make all living creatures fall to their knees in pain. The first shriek released the army of the dead all by itself, while the second broke Fenrir’s—the giant wolf whose children would eat the sun and moon and turn the world dark and silent—chains, the third woke the angry giants from their sleep, and all together the battle for the end of the world would begin.

I took a defensive position, lined up a shot, and scowled when my arrows did nothing against the scale-like skin of the creature, only ripping through the feathered part. Once again, I would have to aim for the eye or maybe the throat and chest where the skin might be weaker.

Rose had gotten creative and tied his axes to the end of two ropes and swung them around individually before aiming for the giant rooster. One swing missed but the other lodged in the non-scaly part of the wing, and Fjalar screamed in pain and lashed out with a mighty swing of his wing and knocked Rose clear across the battleground and into another boulder. The force caused the boulder to crack like a spiderweb and crumple over, some falling backward and some hitting Rosamund. Blood streaked his body, and he didn’t move from where he’d been thrown. He gave a painstaking groan.

“Rose!” Seppo cried out in anguish, and from his very face, it was easy to see he was fighting internally whether he should continue to fight or run to his lover. His eyes became set hard in his face in an expression I’d barely ever seen on him, and he turned on his heel to face Fjalar.

“I will gut you for that,” he growled. “Cover your ears!”

Lydian and I both had the sense to retreat with our ears covered as Seppo let out a mighty whistle causing the oversized bird to drop to its knees, screaming in pain. Seppo himself had his fists clenched so hard that blood began to pour from the marks of his nails and dribbled down his nose, ears, and eyes.

Fjalar bled out of the same orifices, and Seppo increased the pitch of his whistle as the blood came more freely from his face, and he himself became pale and shaking. His whistle also filled his mouth with blood and it dripped down his chin.