I Was Drunk As A Skunk Having Lunch With A Cross-Eyed Bear... You Been There ;D

She spoke, and Viðarr offered a curt nod. It made sense. He was glad to be freed of the trappings of small talk as well, especially in a language that he had an admittedly poor grasp over. The shake of her fur, and he was satisfied-- she'd be okay. No serious injuries, and the blood that clung to her was mostly that of the bear, and not the cat herself. Very well then. "Yours too." The words were colored with kindness, despite their stilted nature. There was something comforting about not having to fight alone.

As the cat left, Viðarr carefully began stripping away the hide. He'd need to return to camp and get one of the others to help him move the bulk of his half of the carcass, but that was fine. Thoughts coursed through his head... was it time to rig up a sledge of sorts for Fisk? Probably. Ah, things that he'd tinker with, all in time.

"Viðarr"