it was like fire around the brim

Víðarr · 02-07-2022, 07:28 AM

It wasn't uncommon for Víðarr to lose himself in his thoughts. Especially after his recent conversation with his sister, his head was loud. There was planning to be done. He'd secure them a home, and he'd do it in the biggest way possible. They had to build their strength, choose a target, take over... and all the small things too. Ideas of calling themselves a band first. That... and would they even accept him as their leader? Víðarr is confident that they'll put their trust in him. The valkyrie had the same confidence. If they didn't then... well, he'd sort that out after. He'd need to speak to the craftsman that lived within the mountains nearby, and he'd need to sort out payment for the things that he'd request. Keeping track of the mental list was a lot, but it was fine. Víðarr mumbled to his dog as he walked, speaking in hushed tones. For his part, Fisk nodded as he plodded alongside the shadow. The shock that he understood every word was one they could save for another day, preferably when Víðarr's Finnish was less absolute shit.

It was safe to say the behemoth of a man wasn't paying the most attention as they walked. He was too busy thinking, too busy sorting out all of the things that were swirling about in his head. Arm rings. He'd have arm rings made by the craftsmen, and they'd be beautiful. Hopefully his family would like them, tailored as they were to each aesthetic. For the valkyrie, something plain and stark. For the priestess, something ornamental and decorated in the marks of their gods. For his angry, ruddy sister, something that was as bold as she. Yes, it would do him well. As he walked and spoke with his companion, he didn't realize how far south they were getting. The sun was far more full here, and Víðarr was reminded how little he cared for the warmth.

Midsummer. The thought spawns a sting at the back of Víðarr's throat. It would be about time for the festival. A dull ache coursed through the shadow's chest. The festivals were the best thing about being at home, really. They'd go all out, drinking and partying and laughing the nights away. There were hunts, feasts, music-- all of it. The whole nine yards. Others travelled far and wide to join them, and it was a designated ceasefire. No serious fighting. No politics. They could all simply enjoy each other. Those days felt far away now.

While Víðarr initially missed the flash of gold through the trees, Fisk stiffened. The dog went from relaxed to alert in a breathless moment. The shadow peered carefully at his dog before tracking his gaze through the trees. They certainly weren't alone out here. Still, he'd tracked in this direction to drink from the river that fed the waterfall itself, and a little unexpected company wasn't going to prevent that. His intended direction didn't change, nor did his pace. The woman came into view as he broke the treeline, and Víðarr offered a polite nod, a gentle smile. She was on the opposite side of the river. Víðarr was comfortable that he wasn't getting too close. The shadow still didn't know what to say in moments like this. Social graces aren't his strong suit, but at least he knows better than to stare. She was regal, grey and golden.

That, and she was awfully pretty. But Víðarr would push those thoughts from his head for now, as he lowered his muzzle to the cool water to take a long drink. Fisk has other ideas, splashing into the slow moving water on confident feet. It was enough to kick up a great deal of excess water, sending it back on his master. "Helvete," he swore, taking a step back and tossing his head to shake the water from his eyes.

VÍÐARR
Ragnarök awaits.

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