souls don't meet by accident

 out of all the places he could dream of, never in his tiny life did he expect to conjure up a place like this. it was entirely different from his home in the north. the sunshine, the breeze, the music... it was all so... mushy. and gross. and weird. why did his subconscious or ancestors or whatever want him to come here? it made no sense.

  either way, the young boy took the opportunity to play in the endless sun and flowers. the different scents etched themselves into his tiny mind as he bounded around freely. his yips and barks rattling off the trees as his eyes soaked everything in. this place, while not home, was awesome! he could do as he pleased with no supervision from his parents or siblings. meaning his world was limitless... until his body collided with another.

 oof.

  scrambling to his paws, fjórir thrashed his skull lightly before his pale jade eyes landed upon a familiar carmel pelt. ylva. "what are you doing here?" the boy asked incredulously. this was his dream... so why was she here?

  dream invader.
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She knew she was asleep and yet she wasn't. She was awake and aware that she was dreaming, but knew enough that she was still tucked within the warm comforts of Hrafnsvaktin's lands. Her leg was still hurt, she wouldn't be able to walk as easily as she was here and yet that hardly mattered. She was free to run, to lope, to chase butterflies and grasshoppers to her little heart's content. No adults, no mean little boys to pester her even if they were kind of cute - and, ugh, why was that thought there too?

She'd never admit that to his face though. His face was, in her opinion, far too smug and far too annoying. He was an icky, yucky little boy that didn't know how glorious of a little lady Ylva was. No appreciation for her exalted existence or her wonderful, wicked humor. She snorted at her own thoughts before focusing back in on the grasshopper she was chasing. At least, that was what she was doing until something solid and hard crashed into her. She couldn't stop the yelp of pain from breaching her lips as she tumbled backwards from the force, her paws waving wildly in the air. “Ow!” She whined out, rubbing a paw on her sore head before she whipped her aching head in the direction of a voice.

“What do you think you're doing?!” she snapped, standing back onto her paws and shoving herself into Fjórir's space, her cheeks puffed out in annoyance like a squirrel as she peered up at his slightly taller form. She didn't question her sudden understanding of his words - she didn't question the clarity in which he spoke common. She was too busy being huffy about her quite lovely dream being interrupted by this heathen. This was her dream, not his! She didn't want to play or share her dream with him. She wanted to chase butterflies and grasshoppers, and maybe even sneak into the nearby berry bushes to steal the ripest berries, all by herself.

“Go away, Fjórir ,” she said, trying to sound firm, but her voice came out shaky instead with frustration. “This is my dream, and I don't want you in it.”

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  so this is what his mother meant by attitude. and ylva reeked of it. even in this imaginary dream, the carmel crusted girl was just as exasperating and mind numbing as she was in the awakened world.

  the boy, just as confused and a bit ticked off she wasn't happy to see him, merely raised a brow at her small outburst. its a tactic he had seen his father perform a number of times, and he always seemed to win. now was his chance to try. his tar-like lips flicked up into his usual smug smirk before his gaze shifted down to stare at her. "harsh words coming from a dream eater," fjórir stated with a feline grin. "and i was here first," the boy stated before he pushed past the girl. "you may be my responsibility in the land of the awaken, but you are not my burden here," he ended. his words seemed harsh, but it's more so he didn't really know how to describe what he felt. plus, he didn't exactly mind that ylva was here. it was always better to play with others than to play by himself. nonetheless, he wasn't in the mood for her silly antics.

  with a wave of his paw, he made the "shoo" gesture. "i dont play with stinky girls."

  he was proud of that one.
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Perhaps if it had been her father or even one of her older, more intimidating brothers, the raised, unimpressed eyebrow would have cowed her. Maybe. But truly? Seeing it coming from Fjórir's face, with that ridiculously annoying, self-satisfied little smirk playing at the corners of his mouth? Pure fuel for the fire. She clenched her jaw in annoyance, itching for a fight. She pictured herself tackling him to the dirt, wrestling him until he was breathless, showing him, once and for all, who was truly the boss. She might be small—a slip of a girl, really—but her Mama, wise as she was, always said she was mighty.

Her mother knew it, her siblings knew, hell she even knew it! And yet, Fjórir – that overgrown, infuriating mutt-–didn't seem to understand, and that, more than anything, was a thorn in her side. “I'm no dream eater!” she snapped, her voice sharp as a winter wind. She didn't even fully grasp what he meant by the insult, but she knew with a certainty that burned in her chest that it was meant to be an insult. “And no, you weren't! I was here first, clearly.” She tilted her chin upwards, her jaw set with a stubbornness that would make her mother proud, daring him to even think about disputing her claim.

When he brushed past her, she couldn't help but stumble slightly on her small, sturdy legs. Fjórir was bigger, taller, probably stronger, but it mattered very little to her as she spun on her heels, all pent-up energy ready to be unleashed. She was after him, her small body moving faster than expected, her shoulder slamming into his with surprising force as a declaration of war. “I never asked to be your responsibility,” she declared, her voice surprisingly airy, almost dismissive, as if his presence was a mild inconvenience. Her tail—usually a swirl of sandy fur—curled behind her hips in a confident arc, her nose held high with a smugness that was, admittedly, a little forced. “And it's a good thing I don't play with icky boys,” she added with a flippant toss of her head. Before he could reply, she bounced ahead, then whirled around, planting herself directly in his path and blocking his way.  A genuine frown creased her brow as she looked up at him, “Apologize,” she demanded, her small voice surprisingly firm.

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  her indignation and defiance caused something deep within his breast to stir. it was an odd sensation. one that he didn't particularly enjoy. in truth, the flicker of emotion that suddenly sparked made him want to be physically ill.

  the tick in her jaw, the sharpness of her words, and the incredulous tone that dripped with venom made his heart... do something. he couldn't identify what. he didn't want to know what. what he did know, was he was tired of being yelled at. so as she went on her tyraid, fjórir's eyes began to gloss over. "you talk a lot," he mumbled before continuing his walk. for someone who was supposedly here first and not wanting to play with him, she seemed to want his attention. ugh. its what he gets for being a ladies man.

  the boy had only made it a few steps past the girl before her body rammed into his own. the force was enough to knock him off balance, but not enough to send him over. the small girl barked, her anger bubbling to the surface as she attempted to chew him out. sadly for her, the boy had plenty of siblings and he was very used to getting scolded. so this little act - didn't phase him. so much so, his smirk had fallen into a flat line and the interest on his facial features disappeared. "and yet, you are," he stated with a rather blunt and nonchalant tone. he didn't mind looking after her. in fact, some days he found himself looking forward to it. bothering her was like fulfilling a secret prophecy.

  god, he was tired. she never stopped. it was only in this moment did he recognize a pattern. ylva seemed to always need or want the last word. this unwavering need to be right... and fjórir could just care less. he didn't see the point in arguments or fighting such small battles. perhaps it's because he doesn't have anything worth fighting for. or because he lacks a certain "spark" to motivate him. either way, when she threw him the insult, he merely sighed.

  she was exhausting.

  figuring it would be best to put some distance between them so he could get back to his dream, the girl surprised him once more. she had bounded forward and stopped dead in his tracks. but when he saw her frown... that annoying muscle in his chest clenched. again, he couldn't recognize why. why this sudden pang made him want to consider apologizing go her, but he wouldn't. he had nothing to apologize for.

  clearly exasperated with her antics, fjórir lazily placed his rump on the floor. his eyes rolled before he offered a cheeky smile. "apologize? for what. i am not wrong."
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