whirling dust in morning air

Uneventfully, Viðarr had nearly finished his meal. Still, he sat to strip and clean the bone carefully-- near obsessively. Such was the way of things. Sanngriðr had expressed an interest in using the hooves to create more game pieces. Nine men's morris, hnefatafl, whatever really caught her brain for the moment. Viðarr figured that the longer his sister worried about creating the game pieces, the longer he could escape being roped into her games. The shadow would be the first to admit that his sister was far better at strategy games than he, and he didn't take well to losing. Yes, it would be a fine distraction, getting her to build the boards and the pieces and absolutely not playing with him.

Such was life with siblings. Such was life when your only constant companions were your own flesh and blood.

A sound from somewhere far off, the girl and her companion weren't ones that had escaped Viðarr's notice. No, while he'd been a bit adrift in his own thoughts, there was little that he didn't pick up on these days. Hyper-vigilance probably wasn't a good thing, but Viðarr was hell bent on keeping his family safe. As safe as he could, given the circumstances. Still, it didn't seem that there was anything to worry about with the girl. It was only as she came closer that Viðarr realized that she wasn't the yearling he'd first assumed her to be. Her voice may have lacked confidence, but it's not unlikeable.

Viðarr's icy gaze took her in for a moment before offering a warm smile. She peered with one honey-gold eye... it struck him. The shadow's thoughts immediately flicker to Odin. Though the all-father didn't often appear as a woman, stranger things had happened. Had he decided to show himself on this day? Had he decided to offer Viðarr a trial of sorts? Upon closer inspection, he wonders if the girl is malnourished, as she's a slight little thing. So many thoughts, it takes him a moment to sift through the words to use. The damned common tongue-- why is it so difficult for him? "It is no interruption," he waves away her concern.

"I believe it is simply called The Wall," though his speech was stilted, the words seemed to come a bit more easily. "On that side," he gestured to the direction from which the stranger had come, "the Mile High Woods." There were the beginnings of the trees that would lead into the woods themselves not far off. "On this side," Viðarr gestured over his shoulder, "the Sparse pines." A reasonably complete answer, and he was pleased with himself.

Still, he was concerned about the state of the girl, and it showed in his gaze. "Are you hungry?" The previous day, they'd caught far more than they'd need. Though there was intent to preserve it and stash it for the winter, hospitality was also deeply ingrained in their culture. When the gods lived and breathed, walked among you, it was a holy act to share with travelers. There was also the suspicion that lived in Viðarr's mind. Odin, är det du?

"Viðarr"