Memories Like Broken Glass, Threaten To Tear Me Apart

Viðarr thinks of how Kiela had spoken of this place, and his heart warms amidst the cold. Gods, how she'd been absolutely reverent. Now, with it spread before him as it was, Viðarr could see why. It's beautiful, and it reminds him of the home that they'd left behind. There's enough of that familiarity to bring a glimmer of a smile to his eyes, just enough to show that there really was an emotion in there somewhere. Somewhere. As he draws closer, he can tell that the stranger is a woman, one ill-suited for the weather up here.

She bowed her head when she spoke, and he offered a polite enough smile. Manners were hard, having been so many places in so little time. Still, Viðarr was becoming more used to it. "I live in the woods, just south of here. Less ice," there was a bit of humor in his tone, but she was clearly cold. For now, the shadow would push his jokes aside. There needed to be concern-- it didn't seem she was as well suited for the cold, and there was no telling how long she'd been on her own.

"Viðarr Trygg," he introduced. Wight, she was called. Carefully, he peered at her as the wind kicked up. He stepped to the side from which the wind blew, making to take the brunt of the impact and at least some of the bitterness from it. "Ruins, of sorts. I don't know their names." The shadow would ask Kiela when he saw her next, maybe she knew. As the wind kicked up around them, Viðarr took a deep breath in. The air stung his lungs. It made him feel alive. Gods it was wonderful... though by her posture, he could guess that Wight didn't feel the same way.

"Come, we take you out of the cold?" The question wasn't quite as eloquent as anyone who actually spoke the common tongue, but it was good enough. An offer, a question, that was maybe phrased like a directive. Ah, good enough. Viðarr could only hope that he came off as non-threateningly as he tried.

"Viðarr"