The woods had quickly become Viðarr's home. There was something comforting about them. Deeply comforting, and they quieted his soul. With as much ease as the hulking shadow could display, he moved across the ground. Every step was practiced, careful. He'd done what he could to learn this place, and all it had to offer. Excellent. It seemed everything was as it should be today, and Viðarr was chief among those things.

It was an unseasonably cool day, and he wasn't complaining. Afternoons had been sleepy lately, but today he could be alert. There was nothing that could stop the creature, a force of nature as he was. He picked up an easy jog, moving through the dappled sunlight of the hulking redwoods. Though he was here, the shadow's mind wandered elsewhere. Wandered to dinner time-- seal, maybe? With his sisters, the shadow could go to the water's edge. They'd have a good time. All was well, and he felt simply divine.

"Viðarr"

a hulk of a man shuffles his way through the dense woods, the mundane smell of prey seems to be more welcoming than foul stench of rotting carcasses like his previous home.. despite his desperation on finding somewhere he can actually call home and feel comfortable, he didn't really care where the wind took him. his paws ached from the endless journey, or what seemed like it.. finally what felt liked ages, grïmmjow came to an abrupt halt at the edge of a pond. his hardened gaze staring intensely into the water, watching as the fish below swim about. his claws sparkle in the morning light, blue eyes never left the visage of the aquatic creatures swimming around effortlessly, as if they weren't about to be eaten. in one swift motion the herculean dips his obsidian paw into the water, a smirk inching across his face once she felt his claws pierce the scaly flesh. blood instantly blossoms, turning the clear water a lovely bright red. he discards the fish on the ground beside her, body shifting to examine his lunch.

fish isn't his first pick when it comes to food, but he'd rather fill his empty belly than starving himself by being a picky bastard. grïmmjow presses his left paw into the side of the slimy creature, growling low as it attempts to flop about, which was quite annoying since the sudden movements made it hard to hold it down. it took a few seconds before he finally bit the head of the fish and he grimaces in distaste -- not quite a fan of the taste and texture of it. upon swallowing the bit that was in his mouth, grïmm sensed someone near by and immediately his head swivels in all directions until he finally caught sight of an equally large male. the heavily scarred man remains where he's seated, unsure if he should approach the man. when it came to other males, grïmmjow exhibited a god complex simply because he never wanted to feel inferior around another wolf of the same sex. so for now he watches the stranger from a distance, waiting to see if the male notices him.

"speech"

Divinity is something different when your gods are living, breathing and walking among you. They'd show themselves differently, at different times, in different places. They'd arrive, come and go, travelers and others. There was a reason that Viðarr believed so strongly in showing kindness to wanderers, to strangers. You can never be too certain who exactly is disguising themselves as a wanderer. Hell, even if it was Loki himself, at least they were in for a good time. Whatever the fates had in store for the shadow, he trusted in them. What will be, will be.

With long strides that seem to eat the ground at his feet, the man draws to the secluded pond. At first, he addresses the stranger with a nod. Viðarr dipped his head for a drink, sating his thirst before speaking for real. "Tja," he greets, tone friendly but flat. Maybe it was too casual a greeting for a stranger, but he didn't care. "Hunt with me," he calls, watching the man's show of displeasure at the texture and flavor of fish. The shadow didn't blame him. "We find something better." Viðarr took to his feet once more, turning towards the rest of the forest and shooting a glance over his shoulder as if to ask coming?

"Viðarr"

Translation notes:
Tja - sounds like "sha," informal greeting like "yo" or "hi"

'tja'

a single eyebrow rises as the male speaks in a foreign tongue, confusing grïmmjow for the longest leaving him at a loss for words. he had no idea what to say after that and if this guy was about to talk in tongues, grïmm wouldn't be around very long to try and piece shit together. thankfully he speaks english, which allows grïmm to release a sigh of relief. his muscles loosen from the extreme tenderness that left his body aching from the sudden strain he was putting on his body. once he settles and is no longer stiff, he'd stand to his paws quickly knocking the carcass of the fish back into the pond. his tongue looms from the side of his maw, lapping up the bit of blood around his mouth and he takes a few cautious steps forward. then he stops dead in his tracks, snorting in displeasure to the males demands.

"hold on now." grïmmjow grumbles in a rather annoyed tone of voice, his thick icelandic accent cutting through his words. the scarred man steps up to viðarr and looks him dead in his eyes, almost sizing him up. "what makes you think i need your help?" grïmm snarls low, moving to his right and circling around the other male until he was directly in front of viðarr. grïmmjow wasn't necessarily asking for a fight, simply questioning the strangers motives. he's never had anyone so upfront, so he was wary of the man and wasn't going to trust that he wasn't planning on leading grïmm into a trap. his paranoia was clouding his judgement and possibly making him look like a threat -- but oh well.

ooc;; this is shit, sorry -.- my kids were rushing me xD

"speech"

Viðarr takes a moment to process the range of emotion from this stranger-- displeased, annoyed. The shadow is quick to write off his reaction on hunger, though. When he's hungry, he's cranky-- why would this stranger not be the same. It doesn't occur to him that he's been rude, though Viðarr tends to have a different grasp on social graces. That's his older sister's domain, he doesn't need to worry... usually. Viðarr was relaxed as he took in the strange man. Paranoid, but it's not abnormal for someone that's been on their own.

"You are fishing, but don't seem to like it." Viðarr took his question literally, watching him with a tilt to his head. It was a soft answer, his tail twitching at his haunches. He smiled. It wasn't a threatening smile, and there's no malice. The shadow couldn't help it, couldn't help the way he reacted. If he wanted to fight, he could. Still, it seemed that he was hungry. "The deer won't die to one, but will easily to two." Those weren't quite the words that Viðarr wanted, but it was close enough. The offer is simple, gentle. No malice, no ulterior motives-- but deer was much tastier than most of the things that either of them could catch alone.

"Viðarr"