Gyda’s lashes cast down and in the light of the fire they create shadows against the surface of her cheeks. His eyes follow the movement, captivated. Awareness inhabits his bones, a slight burn of shame accompanying it. Like the smoke from the fire, she settles over his senses, making it hard to breathe.
‘he wishes he wasn’t aware of how the firelight catches in her hair and transforms it into shades and gilded gold.’ vikings, athelstan/gyda drabble, post-series.