"Why are you doing this, papa?"

Light ocean waves stare back. They're filled with nothing but guilt and sorrow. She's worth an explanation, she's owed that much. But thin lips only purse as his large hands pull tighter against thick rope.

Her mother watches from the corner, in her own nook of safety beside the fireplace. Not once does that gaze leave the little wrists of her daughter as they're bound to wooden bed posts. Not once does a protest leave her lips, or concern fill those eyes. Only fear plagues her now. Fear of the lithe thing on the mattress, and all she's capable of.

"Get the feet too."

An exasperated sigh escapes her father's lips. "Her feet will hardly cause damage."

"Not if she kicks." The woman lifts a sleeve of her dress for added effect. Nothing but battered flesh greets her husband. "It's worse than the nails."

"Papa."

Her voice leaves his chest in ruins. It's a plea, she's begging in the only way she knows how. But there is another woman in his life. The woman that brought her into the world rules over them all. And no matter how great his heart swells at the sight of their creation, he can't help but fear what will come of her. He doesn't want to believe what others have told him, the whispers that some say of his daughter when they think he can't hear. With honeyed curls and baby blues, she should be a gentle thing.

But the blood caked beneath her nails suggests otherwise.

"Tie her feet, Nilsen." His wife presses.

A whimper escapes his daughter's lips as he wraps the rope around ankles the size of his wrist. He longs to untie the dreaded things, and whisper sweet nothings in her ears. She should know she isn't a monster. That they can't control who Odin chooses for his armies. One day perhaps she'll be marveled for what she is. But now it only brings shame to a father who can't do enough, and hatred to a mother who only wanted a normal little girl.

It is all his fault, and he will fail them again, in time.

His wrists tug against her shifting feet. "Don't struggle, Dagny."

"When will you let me go, Papa?"

"When that tea kills the demon inside of you." His wife hisses.

Dagny ignores her. "Will you untie me at sunrise?"

He nods with a frown, his calloused fingertips weaving through her golden tresses. "Yes my girl, at sunrise."

The demon will be asleep by then, unless the Volva's tea manages to kill it. The man doesn't have the heart to tell his wife that he believes the tea only worsens her condition. Agitating the beast rather than destroying it. Nothing destroys the monsters he's fought beside. Not even when a blade pierces their flesh do they succumb to the cold embrace of death. But they are not his girl. They are demons encased in flesh that can barely hold them in. They are not a girl of only five.

His other hand hesitates, just inches from the rope. It's in there, the doubt. He tries to bury it every night with her violent screams but like a virus it always lingers. Perhaps the gods stole away his child and replaced her with a giant's spawn. All the old tales spun speak of such things. How wretched they were destroying homes and eating all the food.

But his girl isn't that. She isn't raw chaos or madness of destruction. She's the copper taste of blood and the awful noise of screams. She's the sharp tip of a knife and the pain of the wound it conjures.

A sharp cry fills the air as a cruel reminder of why he's committed such an atrocity. It's shrill and bounces off every wall in their home. Little Hlodvir squirms in Yir's grasp. He's as old as the current moon and his sister is far too small to carry a babe so large. He wonders if the demon resides in the boy too. If it'll be Hlodvir tied to the same bed five years from now with too much blood on his hands to wipe away the stain.

"Nilsen." His wife warns.

He rises, and Dagny thrashes in her hold. The ropes don't let up as her torso thrashes toward the ceiling.

"Papa."

Hlodvir's cries intensify, water gushes from Yir's glassy eyes. They have to know. The raw intuition of shared blood taints all of them. Their sister is suffering, and they will suffer too.

"Papa!"

His wife rises. Nothing but raw rage consumes her blue eyes as they settle on their eldest. He's tried to shield Dagny from the woman's raw hatred. It wasn't always there, and it's his fault that it is. Any woman fated to him was doomed to carry the monster tied to the bed now. But that monster is still a piece of him, two halves of their existence.

"Don't."

He towers over her. A giant beside a nymph. But she's the fierceness of Laufey and he is a pathetic mortal. They've been reduced to this. Recluses hiding away in the mountains tying their offspring to tattered mattresses. He recalls another world where they're something more than the shells they inhabit. A world where he's a warrior and she's a queen. But that world burned the moment he promised it to her.

She shoves past him, and he hears the sharp impact of her slap. His daughter doesn't even whimper. She's already grown too proud.

"Shut up." His wife hisses. "Before I cut that tongue out."

He doesn't threaten her. Even as the guilt eats him alive he burrows it away. He lets it feast on his insides as he tucks away the children. They have to share a bed with his wife, as Dagny has grown too dangerous for Yir to sleep beside. And he takes the floor. A rightful place for a dog like him. Only dogs are stupid enough to tie up wolves.

And throughout the endless night the beast rises. At first it's the soft whimper of fear. She fights it, the ropes thrash and the mattress creaks. Until whimpers turn to snarls and snarls turn to screams. The rope is stretched to its limit, the distinct snap of the bed frame fills the air. Someone's crying, but he doesn't have to courage to see if it's the monster or if it's his son. He only looks ahead at the dying flames in the fireplace. When she's his age will she loathe him? Will she think of her father as nothing more than a coward? Or will she only hate the woman who dares to say she's her mother?

If he doesn't look he can't see the demon in her eyes. If he doesn't look, he can't see the guilt in her reflection.

But sometime during his wallowing, he misses the sound of the ropes snapping.

* * * * * * * * * * * *

Two wooden logs fall to the Earth. Several stones follow in their wake, they clatter in the frozen dirt one by one. The serpent will have a fire to last not one but two nights, and his nephews will have several stones to throw that the other children when their mother's aren't looking.

Her hands tremble, though it isn't from the weight of timber. It's become monotonous to carry stone and wood every morning. The stones quickly became easy, and it only took a few sunrises before the logs did too. The air doesn't sting when it leaves her lungs, her calves don't scream as the climb every hill. This was his plan all along, to make her stronger. To become more of what she's hidden beneath layers of guilt, and less of the girl who shovels shit and shoots arrows at dead stags.

But this morning as the winter sun began to rise she couldn't stop the shake of her hands as they tended to the livestock. Because no matter how easy it became to carry timber and stone, Dagny couldn't destroy Asta.

Don't disappoint me again tomorrow.

There's only one way not to. But would he come at all? Would he give her the satisfaction of witnessing such a victory? Perhaps he would come if only to see if she listened to his little lesson. Then when she didn't he'd return to sitting beside a warm fire while Dagny was beaten to a pulp. But if she did listen, what would happen then?

Nothing could stop it once it was released. Not the raw burn of rope or the sharp blade of a sword. In the few stories she's heard it doesn't stop even when it's belly is engorged with blood. Nothing can sate a monster. It's always hungry, always yearning for more. Greed consumes it like a second skin, and she can only watch the destruction from the back of possessed eyes.

The sound of boots slamming against dirt fills her ears and so marks the arrival of Asta. They are always the first to arrive. Two warriors on opposite sides of the ring that hardly acknowledge the other's existence. Asta has made her displeasure with Dagny clear. Children appeared to be greater fighters than the farm girl from the mountains. Dagny should despise her for such cruel words, but she can't. Asta isn't wrong. In her world every female fighter is just as lethal as the next. There is no hesitation when fists collide and blood spills. If the roles were reversed, Dagny would be just as livid.

But then again, if she knew what she was really fighting, would she be? How many people slammed a beast to the ground and lived to tell the tale? Perhaps her ignorance was what the serpent yearned for all along.

What did you do, for him to punish you with blind ignorance of what you're up against? Dagny wonders.

She scolds herself for not realizing it before. The serpent always has an ulterior motive. And Asta has a target painted on her back for Dagny to hit. If she can only let go.

The shieldmaiden feels Dagny's stare. Green greed sneers at her through the woman's narrowed gaze. She begins to crack the knuckles that will find Dagny's nose before the fight is over. Dagny only stares back with a blank expression. Is that stir in her belly fear, or pity? Will Asta still sneer and spit at her once she's awakened the best? Or will she no longer have lips to smirk with?

She hears the dog first. His boots crush against the dirt in the same arrogant fashion as Asta. A wounded animal determined to hide his scars. The silent patter of feet beside him indicate the fragile wife that comes despite her displeasure for it all. Dagny wonders if she ever protests, or if she simply listens. Yir often says that good wives aren't supposed to doubt their husbands. That when one marries they relinquish control of their thoughts and let the man cradle them in his grasp. The thought brings her discomfort. For if his hands are gentle, it could almost be nice to have someone there to make your decisions. Someone to make you happy even if you don't quite understand why you are. But harsh hands can be lethal. They crush your thoughts beneath them until nothing but a submissive shell is by his side. That risk alone is why Dagny deems marriage more terrifying than war. War can kill you but, marriage is the endless pain of bleeding out.

The soft touch of another brushes against her shoulder and Dagny is thrust from inner turmoil. She jumps out of her skin and the body beside her mimics the action. It's only when their gazes lock that she realizes why. The dog's little wife stares back like a hunted doe. Her lips are parted but no sound escapes. She simply looks at the farm girl in front of her.

Does she fear me?

Delicate fingers brush her arm once more. They trail down to her wrist, tracing every bruise beneath the sleeve of her tattered tunic. Her touch reminds Dagny of Yir. Painfully gentle and unaware of the effect it has on those beneath it.

"Eira." The dog growls.

His arms are crossed. If it's an attempt to look bigger it's lost. While he's taller than Dagny, his arms do not bear the thick muscle of other warriors. He is lean, only muscular because he lacks fat on his bones. Though his wife is still affected. She's a little lamb caught between two beasts. Her head hardly reaches Dagny's chest.

"I should like to see you win today." The wife's voice even reminds Dagny of Yir. The soft whisper of wind. "My mother was like you. She always fought in the pits."

Was her mother a monster too?

The dog's gaze bores into the back of Eira's head. He has little control over anything, and his wife is no different. She listens because that is her makeup—to obey without second thought. But if she were rebellious, if she were even curious, his hold would do little against it. Dagny knows why it is his little brother who sits on the throne and not him. He could never control such a curse. He could never handle the burden of being king.

Eira gives Dagny a small smile that she can't return before retreating to her husband. She grasps his upper arm and whispers something into his ear. Whatever it is, Dagny notices the way his shoulders slouch and his expression fades. This woman has some form of a hold on him, even if it isn't love. Dogs can easily be tamed,and she's found a way.

"Will he actually show his face today?" Asta sneers at the prince.

Fists clench at his sides and Dagny is surprised to see he hasn't reacted more impulsively. The dog doesn't take insults lightly. He demands the respect he doesn't deserve. But it's often given to him regardless out of fear. Fear aimed directly at the serpent. But what most don't realize that Asta has, is that the serpent cares little for his brother's honor. They could poke and prod at him until there was nothing left, the serpent will only watch with hungry eyes.

"If he wishes." He answers through clenched teeth.

Asta shakes her midnight braid. "Of course. How foolish of me to forget."

"It's only foolish to assume I wouldn't come."

Asta whirls. Behind her the serpent is sprawled against the cold snow, his grin sharp enough to draw blood. The sound of chains against the frigid ground never reached any of them. That's how the greatest predators strike, when the prey least expects it.

That's what you want me to do.

Except she isn't him. They are both monsters that much she knows. He bears fangs and she bears claws. Both drown in the blood they spill, drinking it until the parched feeling leaves their tongues. But he's chosen to become the beast he is. He revels in the fear others have for him. Every piece of him that is man he tries to kill. But she's different. The beast inside of her never asked if it could stay. It just burrowed beneath her bones without second thought and kept warm beneath her skin. It demands more from her than she can take. She's spent her life trying to kill it, trying to bury it so deep that it can't find its way back up. And now she has to set it free.

"Forgive me, my king." Asta stiffens. "I only thought—"

A dry chuckle leaves his lips. "You aren't here to think, Asta. You are here to fight."

And just like that she's reminded of her place. They are nothing but entertainment for a creature like him. Opinions mean little when only one truly matters. He's wounded Asta before fists are given the chance to fly. Dagny doesn't miss the way her shoulders deflate, or the downward twitch of her lips. Just like that he's provided the shieldmaiden with more motivation to crush her. If Asta didn't intend to ruin her before, she will now.

"Dagny."

Amongst all her inner turmoil she doesn't realize he's crawled beside her. His cold gaze bears into her with brunt force, stealing all the breath from her lungs. The expectations he's placed are mountains rising from her sore shoulder blades.

Don't disappoint me again

Is this her final warning? One more strike and she's gone. Another bow snapped, and she's a lowly farm girl once again. But did she ever stop being that farm girl? Nothing sets her apart from the woman pacing a few feet away.

Except a monster tearing away at her insides for a way out.

Their gazes are different ends of the same ocean. They meet with the crashing of waves, though the salt within his sting the fresh scars Dagny bears. "Don't you have a fight to watch, Ivar?"

Her challenge has a smirk tugging against his lips. That's how this feels sometimes, like a game. One where one wrong move can cost everything. But she's learning how to navigate him, how to challenge him.

His laughter is lost in the wind. "You are right about that."

He says nothing more. Instead the melody of metal against dirt fills her ears as he approaches his seat. The dog and his wife have already taken their places beside him. Their expression give nothing away. Though she wonders if they bear the same interest toward this fight as he does. Or if they are only here to avoid their king's wrath.

They all watch as he settles in the chair too rigid for his fragile bones. But the discomfort on his face is gone within seconds and only the monster remains. His sharp tongue emerges licking newly sharpened fangs. The serpent thirsts for bloodshed, and he'll have it before the day is done.

Asta must take his position as her cue to encroach. She strides toward Dagny, each step mimicking the pounding in her chest. She isn't ready yet. It's too soon.

Go back, I'm not ready. Go back, go back, go—

A sickening crunch fills the air as sparks fly. Dagny stumbles back, clutching a hand against her nose. Blood pours down the open cavities staining every ounce of flesh it can cling too. Asta snickers but Dagny can't hear much over the ring in her ears. She shakes her head and droplets of crimson stain the snow below.

She won't win, not like this. When Dagny swings her arm in retaliation Asta simply dives to the left. A sharp pain radiates up her leg as Asta's boot collides with the back of her knee. A cry leaves her lips as the appendages threaten to buckle to the ground. One more hit and she'll collide with the dirt.

Think about your mother.

Her mind dares to wander, if only for a moment. She imagines the woman whose robbed them all of a normal life. She can't erase that glare from her eyes or the frown on her lips. Disappointment radiates off the woman like a scent. It fills Dagny's nostrils until she's choking on the smell of it. Nothing is enough. She thinks of every night spent tied to a mattress until the ropes snapped beneath her grip. She imagines the look on her sibling's faces when they learn they're trapped behind those four walls for the rest of their lives. She imagines the night her father never came home, and how her mother scolded her for waiting outside all night.

"Waiting for a ghost doesn't excuse you from cleaning the pens."

She recalls the disgust in her mother's eyes when Dagny's nails were embedded in her arm. She remembers every blow to the back of her head. Every jab at her lack of femininity. She remembers the winter before her father died, when her little legs slipped on the snow and crashed into the icy river. Her mother didn't even let out a cry. She watched passively as the frigid water filled her daughter's lungs.

Dagny's arm flies until it makes impact with Asta's chest. A strangled cough escapes the other woman as she stumbles back. But before she can regain her footing Dagny's on her again. This time her fist collides with Asta's stomach again and again until she's choking for air.

All she sees is red.

Her fist flies again and Asta collides with the dirt. Her breathing is shallow as Dagny takes a swift kick to her ribs. Unlike her opponent, there is no mercy behind Dagny's movements. Each kick is full force against the shieldmaiden's ribs. A violent crack pierces the air and Asta's shrieks. But that doesn't stop her. Her leg collides with the shieldmaiden until another sickening crunch fills her ears.

The two fighters collide as Dagny heads for the ground. Her fist finds Asta's nose before the shieldmaiden can push Dagny's weight off of her. As if she's wound up Dagny's fist collides with Asta's face until her nose is shifted in another direction. Crimson pools down her nose and into her mouth. She's an endless river of blood that stains Dagny's coiled fists.

"I—I submit." Asta chokes.

But Dagny doesn't hear her. All she hears is the bored voice of her mother.

"You're getting blood on my floor."

Her fist flies.

"You're getting blood on my floor."

There's a whimper below her as Dagny's fist mutilates her opponent again and again.

"Ivar, she submitted!"

But no one rips Dagny from Asta. Whatever terrible plan the serpent concocted has worked, and as far as she's aware he isn't trying to end it.

She thirsts for blood. Her tongue is dry as a desert and only the copper scent of it will sate the beast. When her teeth bite down on the soft flesh of Asta's throat it's belongs to her mother. She imagines draining the very thing that gave her life.

The body beneath her thrashes but Dagny's nails dig until nothing but flesh settles under the beds. A scream dies in the air as her teeth dig deeper. She won't stop until her throat is torn in half.

"Oh, fuck this!" An unknown voice fills her ears.

Suddenly she's thrust from the ground, bits of Asta's skin cling to her teeth. Her back slams into the earth as a violent gaze stares from above. It's one of the serpent's guards. The cold blade of his knife is pressed against her throat.

"You were supposed to stop, you little bitch." He spits.

A voice leaves her lips, so cold she barely recognizes it. "You can't stop me."

Her leg wraps around his and he's thrust onto the ground. His blade slips and she grabs it before he can manage to knock it from her bloodied fingers. In seconds the blade meets his throat, and the life spills from him.

When she rises another guard is waiting. His fist collides with her throat and a strangled cry leaves the beast. He lunges forward, reaching for the sword in his sheath, but is met with a swift kick. A hiss escapes his lips as her boot collides with his hand. He lunges forward and they collide into the dirt. His fist slams against her jaw until it goes numb. But he's forgotten about the knife in her left hand. He's too busy slamming a fist into her jaw to hear the blade lunging into his back. A soft gasp leaves his lips as the weight of him collapses onto her.

"You're getting blood on my floor."

The guard's lifeless body is thrown into the air. It crumples beside Asta whose body leaves a river of crimson beneath it.

Pain blooms across Dagny's face. But it's nothing compared to the rage stirring inside her. It's not enough, the blood isn't enough.

More, more, more.

"Dagny."

Kill them all.

"Dagny."

The voice is soft. It's the soothing touch of water against battered flesh. It threatens to weaken the beast with a simple word. She slowly rises to her knees.

"Dagny."

She stays where she's planted. The voice slams into the beast until it's falling. It spirals down into the darkness of her body. But not without a fight. It claws at every inch of her skin. She releases out a strangled cry as the beast threatens to tug back up.

Calloused hands press to her swollen cheeks. "Come back."

There's a hardness to the voice. The boldness of a command that she can't refuse. But Dagny doesn't mind curling up in her skin while the beast has its way with everyone else. Isn't that what Ivar wanted? He wanted her to leave and unleash whatever creature lurked beneath.

"Dagny." The voice sighs, its hands gently stroking the matted tresses that have fallen out of her braid. "Let the Úlfhéðnar sleep."

The beast submits to the voice. Slowly it settles once more in its cage between her flesh and bone. The crimson smoke clears to reveal a battlefield. But she can't see beyond the man sitting before her.

His gaze is too gentle to belong to the serpent. Yet those blue eyes haunt even the most violent of Dagny's dreams. She can't forget them even if she tried. His calloused hands tug against the knots of honey strands. But it isn't the harsh grip she's accustomed to.

When her gaze threatens to wander his hand grips the back of her skull. "No, no." He whispers. "Look at me."

Once more the snake charms the human, instead of the other way around. She yearns to protest but nothing except graveled mumblings leave her mouth. The pain in her throat is a sharp knife left behind from the guard's kick.

"Just look at me." He repeats. " Breathe."

Inhale.

Exhale.

Inhale.

"Good." The serpent's praise is weight lifted off tired shoulders.

They sit like that for maybe hours or minutes. In her mind months have passed before her knees grow as numb as the ground below them. Her chest a shaking cavity of shallow breaths as the beast within her slowly returns to a deep slumber.

She isn't sure what she expected. Perhaps that he'd scold her in the manner she's come to know. Like a hurricane his moods shift within minutes, leaving everything in disarray. She's made a mess of everything. Behind her sobs choke into the winter air, and she can't help but feel the weight of guilt at the thought of the dog's wife. She's too fragile for a violent scene such as this.

It's possible that his words from the night before rang true. Did she make him proud? Should she even care if she did?

"Did—" Dagny's voice is gravel rubbing against the dirt. "Did I disappoint you?"

It's almost humiliating to admit it aloud. She's become a child again begging for the approval of her superiors. But her chest clenches at the thought of bearing his disappointment once again.

Hel must have become the frost giant's domain, for the serpent's lips contort into a smile that bears no semblance of malice. It's the winter sun pressing warmth to numb flesh. It's baffling the beauty a deadly predator can possess.

His gaze is two bright lights. "You've done just the opposite."

Her stomach flips. Heat stains her cheeks, leaving a rose shade in its wake. Her cracked lips tug into a painful smile.

"Can you get up?" His gaze falls to her battered knees. "You took quite a few hits."

Dagny nods quickly. As if any semblance of weakness would retract the respect she's suddenly earned. But she can tell the serpent has his doubts. Beneath the warmth of his eyes lies suspicion.

Her stained palms press against the dirt. She bears her weight into them as her legs press forward. A sharp pain radiates through spine, but Dagny ignores it with clenched teeth. The serpent spins as her body slowly rises, the blank space beside his head carries thousands of black specks. Her thighs waiver, and pain continues to shoot through her calves.

But she stands, broken and battered, but victorious. The mountains that rested on her shoulders crumble. She light, she's a feather. A strangled sob escapes her lips. But where she is in the middle of celebration, the serpent's grown weary. His gaze darting all around the ring. Behind him the dog glares at her with a malice cruel enough to stop the celebrations in their tracks. His wife burrows into his chest, soft sobs falling from her trembling lips. And Dagny doesn't miss the way his large hand rests on the hilt of his sword.

Monster. His glare shrieks. It's the same look her mother's had since she was a girl. Disgust and fear all muddled into one sickening gaze.

"Dagny." The serpent commands. "Just look at me."

He's protecting her. As quickly as he's gained his warrior he can lose her. The game hasn't changed. If she can't witness the damage she's done, she'll follow him blindly.

She whirls, the sight behind her a massacre. The breath hitches in her throat at the sight of red. So much red. The soil will bear a permanent stain from the tiny rivers running through it. The first body is the one directly behind her with a blade buried in the spine. Only the hilt remains while the silver becomes part of decaying bones. Another lays beside it. This man's lifeless eyes stare up at the grey sky. His neck bears a deep gash which flows a wave of crimson. The cut so clean if Dagny pressed both ends together they'd unite. Just beyond him is a figure so battered she hardly recognizes it from a distance.

The serpent grows weary behind her. "Don't." He warns.

But she's already limping toward Asta, until she's standing in front of a mutilated corpse. What was once a mess is nothing but swollen plumes of blue and black. Several limbs contort in various directions, her tunic nearly torn in half. But the most unsettling feature is her throat. Unlike the other man, this wound isn't the clean cut of a knife. It's uneven, bleeding from several spots. Chunks of flesh litter the ground, and Dagny fights the urge to regurgitate her breakfast. Asta's throat bears the mark of teeth—Dagny's teeth.

The metal clang of braces echo behind her. "She knew the risk."

No she didn't. None of them believed you.

She's meant for legends, the tales mothers tell their children at night.

It's as if he's read her mind. "If she took you more seriously than perhaps she'd still be alive. That was her own mistake. All of them."

Is this the part where he goes on about how they all underestimated him? That they thought him a worm when he was really a snake all along? And it wasn't until they felt the sharp sting of venom that they realized it was wrong to ignore creatures lurking in the grass?

Her whisper is inaudible.

"Tomorrow you will fight—"

"No." She rasps.

"No?"

She doesn't have to turn around to know the expression on his face. "No."

"Dagny." He warns.

"Is this the part where you tell me I can't refuse you again?" She faces him with nothing but violent hues of blue.

He stares back. "You know you can't."

She walks by him, past the wide eyed guards that look at her like a wild animal. Past the snarling dog and his waifish wife. She pauses just before her pile of things. The furs that hardly cover her arms, and the knives that are quickly growing dull. When she bends down she hardly spares them a second glance. Her eyes only fall on the one thing that presses against her chest until she's suffocating.

She grips the bow, the cool touch of wood against her flesh the only comfort she's ever known. In the moment she can't decide what brings more pain, her ruined body or the weapon in her grasp.

"You're making a mistake." The serpent's voice rises. She can taste the nerves on his tongue. "It'll kill you if you keep it bottled up. I'm your only chance at sanity."

She reaches for her pack of arrows, rising with both hand in hand. She's left him a bundle of nerves with a single threat. Has the dog ever even come close to such a thing? Does it haunt his dreams at night that his brother has finally found someone unafraid enough to say no?

Dagny tosses the bow and arrows onto the ground in front of him. His gaze is daggers but he's forgotten she's already bleeding out.

"I'll take the risk."