Sindri had taken out three men since his capture. He had been a scout, surrounded by men, and didn’t go down without a fight. Venom shot from his tongue as he hurled every insult in the Fìoran language, hitting, kicking, biting.

Even now, as he sat in a cage, arms locked behind his arms, he showed no fear. He looked to the person who arrived with a raised chin, a defiance in his eyes, and promptly spat at their feet.

“Eldhúsfífl. Níðingr. You will find no betrayal to my people through my tongue.”