The wound on his shoulder had already begun to knit back together. A spare few days had passed, and they'd managed to drag both carcasses back to camp with some effort. Together with his older sister, Viðarr had set to work breaking down each of the carcasses, rending flesh from bone, flesh from hide. The meat from the oxen calf was tender, and it had done well to sustain them. The bear meat was gristly, tough, not the most appealing... certainly not the most appealing, as it took on a rather slimy quality even. The shadow had set most of it aside, resolving that they'd use it to bait some fish later. Fish, or maybe something even larger, even stranger. There was no telling what exactly they'd pull from the Sound, after all. That, and Viðarr figured that the dogs would eat pretty much anything. So far, neither was all that picky.

No, the pelt of the bear was what Viðarr was the most concerned with. The creature had been immense, and the faster he processed the hide, the faster they'd be able to use it. He'd been thinking, considering the coming winter. When he'd found Tove she'd been frozen nearly to death... it was likely for the best that they made her some sort of coat for the colder months. Still, there would be plenty of pelt leftover. Maybe some bags would make for good crafting as well, seeing as they'd need them when they moved camp. Iðunn would undoubtedly want many of the bones... right. Every part of the creature used, nothing wasted. From what remained of the bear, the shadow removed a chunk of the pelt, maybe a third from the creature's broad back. It looked to be enough to serve as the base for a cape for the woman who'd felled the bear by his side.

Viðarr set to work, stretching the portion of hide across the ground near the fire. It was early afternoon, a beautiful early autumn day, but this was an undertaking that would likely require several hours. Best to set up somewhere he could get an artificial light source if needed. Carefully, he weighed down each of the corners with decently sized rocks. Then, with a careful grasp, the shadow set to work. He'd move in careful, even strokes across this section of hide, scraping away all the remaining flesh with the flint crafting knife.

"Viðarr"

The nebula-clad woman wandered the nearby area, pondering the hunt and unsuspecting predator that she and Viðarr had found. Tove had never felt alive as she had when fighting alongside the shadow. Thoughts carry away her mind as she walks and it isn’t until duel-toned eyes spy the dark form of Viðarr near the fire that Tove realizes where she is. Blinking, she eyes the pelt he has laid out and the nebula wolf becomes excited. Bouncing forward, she says, “Hey Viðarr! Mind if I join you? I would like to learn how you tan a hide so well.” Moving to take a seat next to the shadow, she offers him a huge grin as picks up a sharp rock to try and help.

"Tove Baade"

The shadow found himself adrift in his thoughts for a moment, scraping away at the hide with practiced motions. They were careful, thoughtful, each stroke executed with care and precision. He's taken in by the rhythm of the work, the dull sound of his flint blade as he rends flesh from skin. Comfortable, really. This is his home, these are his chores. His mind is, for once, peaceful. Still, Viðarr is more glad than he cares to admit that he's not on his own for long.

Viðarr peers at Tove, nodding once as she asks to learn how he does things. "Alright." It's then that the challenge of this occurs to him. The words for what exactly he does don't come as easily as he'd like. Still, he would do his best. "Come, sit." The words are short, but by no means unfriendly. Viðarr is a man of few words to begin with, and he lacks the ease and fluency to have his words come... well, to have them come easily. Carefully, he climbs to his feet, moving to rummage in the crafting supplies that Sanngriðr had left stacked near the common space that they'd set as their camp. There had to be another knife somew-- ah. Viðarr made a face, having found the flint crafting knife with the tender side of his foreleg. Of course she'd left it wrapped among some of the hides she'd rather not have traded away. Well, at least he could be sure it was sharp, and it had a better handle on it than his own. Carefully created, she'd done a good job.

From the stack of hides to be processed, the shadow pulled the pelt of a hare. It was smaller, and would be easier to work with for someone just starting out. Viðarr returned to the woman, turning the flint knife to offer it handle-side first, and then spreading the hare's pelt before her. "Flint knife, easily sharpened. The sharper the tool, the less likely you are to get injured in the process." The explanation was careful, doing his best to arrange the words in his head before speaking. "That one is Sanngriðr's, I will get her to make you one, if you would like." Hell, he'd have to have the valkyrie make him one as well, they were far nicer than his own hastily constructed tools. She had the patience for that sort of thing.

"Spread the hide as flat as you can first." The shadow returned to his spot, settling before his bear pelt. "Put something heavy on each corner." Right, not too many directions at once. The shadow gestured to the rocks he had on each corner of his own spread hide, ready to help Tove move stones if the need arose.
"Viðarr"

The nebula-clad wolf easily takes a seat next to large shadow, a feeling of comfort and safety wrapping around her shoulders. Duel-toned eyes turn up to his face and Tove offers him a smile. She picks up a flat rock, offering to help and Viðarr carefully climbs to his paws. Head tilts as she watches as he rummages through some crafting supplies, giving a small wince when the shadow makes a face. He withdraws a flint knife, a small line of blood welling on his foreleg and Tove has to suppress the giggle that threatens to escape.

Viðarr can be a man of few words but the nebula-cloaked woman knows that actions speak louder then words. Tove watches as he grabs a small rabbit pelt and brings the items back to here they are sitting. The shadow offers her the flint knife, hilt first, and she carefully puts the large, flat rock down so can take hold of the beautifully crafted knife. Tove holds the knife, watching as Viðarr spreads the hare’s pelt out before her. He explains about the knife and she can only nod in understanding.

Duel-toned eyes flick down to blade as he explains it is Sanngriðr's knife before flicking back up to his face as he offers to have his sister make her one of her own. A smile tugs her lips up and she nods emphatically in agreement. Then, the lesson begins and Tove carefully lays the flint knife to the side and uses her paws to spread out the hide. Something heavy for each corner… lucky the rabbit pelt isn’t as big as the bear one and the nebula wolf able to quickly find four good-sized rocks. One by one, Tove brings the rocks over, pinning down corners and smoothing the hide out as she goes.

Finally, the hide is ready. Reclaiming her seat next to Viðarr, Tove gently picks up the flint knife and says, “Okay, the hide it pinned. Now what?” Duel-toned eyes look to the shadow for further instructions.


"Tove Baade"

As Tove readies herself, the shadow settles to lick at the wound. Really, there had to be something dangerous about leaving her knife that way. Still, he knows better than to scold his older sister. That, and he was looking to borrow it without permission. Still, who leaves a knife all tucked away where it can just stab someone. Ah, no matter. The wound wasn't anything to worry about, just a small thorn in his side. It was fine he was just going to complain (internally) about it.

Tove settled back down, holding the knife carefully. That was a good sign, at least. The hare's skin lay flat, spread between the rocks. Good, Viðarr nodded to himself. She'd listened well so far. "Fleshing," he explained. "Removing the flesh from the skin." The shadow figured that made enough sense, or at least, he hoped as much. "Watch," and then there was the instruction. Carefully, he gripped his knife-- not too firm though. He held the blade almost parallel to the skin itself and scraped away at the greasy bits of bear that still clung to the pelt before him. "Don't ah... stab? And careful that it stays flat." Viðarr instructed, nodding once, more to himself than to Tove. Wouldn't want to stab through the pelt, wouldn't want to get caught on anything beneath it and nick the hide.

"What we do only works with fresh or almost fresh pelts. If they sit, we ah... have to do it another way." Right, something that the valkyrie would need to explain. She was better at handling things after they'd sat for a while, anyway. "You try." Carefully, he gazed at Tove, watching the way she held the knife and hoping she'd picked things up. Still, it was a practice makes perfect sort of scenario. No one was perfect right away.

"Viðarr"

Tove holds the knife with great care as she looks at the stretched out hide. Duel-toned eyes turn up to the huge shadow, waiting for his guidance. He explains the process, calling it ‘fleshing’ which, the nebula wolf quickly learns, is exactly what it sounds like. When Víðarr instructs her to watch, she obediently shifts her gaze down to his knife and notes how his grip is certain. The confidence of knowing his trade, shows in the deft strokes he uses to remove fat and flesh, all movements smooth and sure. It is mesmerizing, the way the knife scrapes over the hide, the sound of the flesh being pulled away from the pelt is strangely satisfying to her. Víðarr instructs her not to stab and Tove nods her understanding, eyes remaining on his knife and the pelt.

She nods to his explanation about using a fresh pelt instead of dries ones and then he instructs her to try. Duel-toned eyes turn to the knife she holds, wanting to give the tool the respect it deserves. Tove glances over to Víðarr, adjusting her grip until she confident that it will not slip out and nick her. Giving herself a small nod, Tove places the knife almost parallel to the hide, like he had showed her, and pushes it out. Unfortunately, the knife does jumps, glancing off her paw pad and drawing a small bead of blood. Red brows knit together as she adjusts her grip, licking off the blood before setting the knife to begin again. This time the blade doesn’t jump as she scarpse at the rabbit flesh. Her work is sloppy at first and she huffs in annoyance at herself.

As the time goes on, Tove grows more confident and relaxes, her strokes becoming smoother and less jittery with each subsequent pass. The rhythm captures her; place, scrape, lift, place, scrape. When she sits back, the flesh is gone from the rabbit pelt and she lays the knife gently aside. Finally, she says, “Hey Víðarr. Is this okay?” White dipped paw points to her pelt as she turns her gaze to the shadow’s face.


"Tove Baade"