ett öppet sår

He can smell Tove long before he sees her. The shadow was content to keep his attention on the afternoon's project, at least until someone needs him. Right, different days, different needs. He'd learn how to change gears eventually. Flexibility... well, that was his sisters' strong suit, usually. Still, Víðarr would learn how to go with the flow in time. As he gets to the edge of the pelt itself, he finally looks up to see the galaxy-spun woman before him. Musk ox... that sounded good, actually. Carefully, he set down his flint blade. "Hand me this rock," he gestured to one of the rocks that had chipped from the wall itself, certainly heavy but not all that large. "And this one, ah... snälla." Right, he should tack a please on there somewhere, even if he didn't recall quite well enough.

"And then we can go." He scraped at one remaining piece of flesh on his hide before setting the blade down once more. Right. Yes. He'd just need to tack the hide down to dry in the sun, and prevent the edges from curling. Learning how to be flexible but ah... good enough. The shadow smiled to Tove and watched as both dogs bounced to their feet, still swatting at each other with playful paws.

"Viðarr"