Croatian Tales of Long Ago - Volos

“CHECK. OUT. THAT. ASSHAT.”
"Look at him strutting around.“
“Look at him going like he is the greatest and he is sitting here on the top of the World. Look at him threatening all living and everything dead with his lighting and thunder.”
Gesturing abundantly, Volos snickered at the scene going on at the top of the Tree of the World. He giggled as the “Asshat Upstairs” tried to pull his pants out of his butt. He rolled his eyes as the same “Asshat Upstairs” tried to loosen the strained strips of his weapon belt that were cutting deeply into the flesh around his waist.
“Someone should stop partying,” he explained, spitting pieces of Tree of the World’s roots together with the flecks of dirt. Birdies had fun catching pieces of chewed but not swallowed roots. They were sweet.
For a while, Volos listened to the buzzing and stared at the canopy above him.
“Or maybe not. Piggy Belly will be much tastier for my belly. For all of our bellies, too... Oh, I can hardly wait for my wounds to heal so I can kick his hat-wearing ass. Kick it once and for all.”
Volos clawed at the half-healed scar left over from the last battle with Perun. He stretched and bit into a fresh piece of root. He rolled his eyes and snorted at something he saw going on at the top of the Tree. He spat.