The cough comes out silent this time, it's timbre lost among a sea of sounds, the moaning too. There to the left girls are beating deerskin drums barehanded. Young naked women run around and shriek a song on a forgotten dialect, filling the air with potent dread that alarms the heart to beat faster. The trusts gain vigor. The wives are to the right and guide a stallion in estrus, yoked in a plow that pulls through the barren stony earth, they encourage and tease the animal while it shows its frustrated strength, they mock it whenever the plow slows down and give his member a few jerks for encouragement to go faster again...

The men are wind beaten and watch from afar down there at the beach, where the ship waits patiently, after all too much masculine energy will disrupt the synergy of the feminine ceremony.
A fire rises swinging in all directions, it's almost dawn, it needs to be fed more to match the upcoming sun.

In the center of all this mad cacophony a man and woman become one, naked and bruised, moaning and grunting, they lay under a pregnant mare held in place by old crones, all in order to create a life. And behold! In reaching their peak a crone splits the belly of the mare and profound quantity of liquid goes all over the two lovers. All that is female in attendance stops it's doings and howls a hair raising shriek, the ceremony is complete. There, covered in bright red arterial blood, covered in dark venous blood, covered in placenta and guts the two beloved are as if wed again and kiss most tenderly. The woman's messy white hair is now red and sticky with coagulating blood, she takes great care in not spilling the seed inside of her and raises crossed legs on the carcass of the dead animal. Somewhere in the far distance Thor approves with a thunder, she caresses the hammer resting on her breast.

A short cough, and she announces <span class="mu-i">"From this day forth I, Rannveig, will no longer be known as Purple-Eyed, but Blood Bride! The bride of my noble jarl... "</span>