Róta had been doing a pretty stand out job of dodging the puppies that seemed to explode all over the landscape. It tugged at her heartstrings a bit with the what ifs, but she was able to ignore it, for the most part, thanks to befriending a trader that kept her well stocked on mead in exchange for a few pelts here and there. She had retreated to the opposite side of the valley (where she was hiding her stash), about to settle down and watch the sunset. She rummaged through the cache of empty bottles sure she still had at least one more in here somewhere... She'd need to cart the empties back for refilling before the man moved on.

Sucess! She hadn't been mistaken. She jumped up on the sun soaked rock and reclined sphinx like to hold the bottle between her paws while her teeth worked to loosen the cork. Idly she wondered how much longer they would linger here.

“Speech”

only dead fish go with the flow

Spring would melt into summer, and it would be time for the band to move on soon. Soon, but not yet. Víðarr had been doing what he could to enjoy the little time he had left with the pups. Maybe it tugged at his heartstrings just a bit, too, the thought of them. The thought of the pups, and then the conversation he'd had with Tenshi not so long ago... fuck. That, and seeing that Sedna was with child as well. And the question of her husband, too... the conversation with him that would come on another day.

Víðarr did need to speak with what was left of the family that he'd fractured with his own poor choices. At least Róta wasn't all that difficult to find. The shadow found her easily, perched up on a warm rock. Wordlessly, he leapt up to join her, slipping a bit as he did. Never a graceful creature, he set his head down on his paws and peered out over the Valley once he finally finished his scramble.

He breaks the silence after a long while. "You're coming with me at the end of the season, right?" Viðarr didn't want to go without her, but he's also well aware he screwed up last time. His gaze doesn't leave the Valley that spreads before them. The question was unnecessarily heavy in his chest.

"Viðarr"

The ginger wolf didn't need to look over to know it was her brother approaching. She wordlessly offered him the bottle once he was done with his scramble and scooched over just a bit to make room on the large flat expanse for the larger wolf. His word bought a snort from her nose, lips curling up in a borderline feral grin. “You think I would waste my time fighting you if I expected to leave you?” They were family. Who was this uncertain creature beside her that he would have to ask? “Next time take me with you. Don't leave me behind again.” She reached to swipe her bottle back, just because he was bigger didn't mean she'd give him a larger share.

Her green eyes stayed trained on the Valley below. This was the best time of day to hunt after all, and she was looking out for an easy target.

“Speech”

lightning struck and I found my thunder

Viðarr gladly accepted the bottle, taking a long drink. Her grin brought about one of his own, a brilliance between the two of them that's damn near unmatched. Siblings, partners in crime, all of it. "Never again." It's an oath, a promise. Spoken with a certain seriousness that can't be fabricated, now or ever.

"I want to raid, like the old days." His words were thoughtful, a far off look in his eyes as he gazed out over the verdant valley. He looks, too, for something they can track and hunt. Something tasty. Dinner. Dinner first, infamy later.

"Viðarr"

“Ha!” Her answering laugh is short and sharp, Like the old days. “This place has made me soft and round, I will need to get back to practicing, and find some good weapons.” Still, there was an eagerness to her reply, a longing to do what she was born to, that has too long been lost to her between tragedy and trying to find her feet away from home. She was no farmer, and it was time she stopped acting like one.

Her gaze narrows on a herd of big wooly goats, picking their way down into the valley under the cover of failing light, probably seeking the soft green grass and water that is lacking up in their rockier habitat. She tip her chin, a silent question. Was it worth risking the horns or should they wait for something softer to come along?

“Speech”

only dead fish go with the flow

His laugh is rough, hearty, as his sister speaks. It's true-- neither of them are farmers. Neither of them had or would ever be farmers, and they'd been living that way for much too long. Something wild lives in both of them, something unhinged and brilliant. Viðarr reaches out to nudge at her side, and then at his own. "Both of us, too soft. We should do something about that... after dinner." A wry grin, a toss of his head. They move together in a practiced, companionable silence.

At the tilt of her chin, Viðarr follows his sister's gaze. There were horns, but those horns would be of value to them too. After a long moment of consideration, the shadow gives a stiff nod. Both of them were built as berserkers, as tanks. If the goat made a run for it, they might be in trouble. Viðarr took a moment to think about their situation before making his move. He takes off downwind at a jog to circle wide around their prey, putting himself in position to drive the creature in his sister's direction. Lifting his head to look to her once he's in position, it's a question-- ready?

"Viðarr"