ett öppet sår

He hums a soft thanks as she passes each rock, allowing a soft smile to curse his lips. Right, he could let himself smile. He could let himself show some shade of emotion here. There was nothing wrong with that. The stoic face that he usually defaults to... it can soften. Viðarr is allowed to soften himself here. Tove was family now too. His family. It's always been about more than blood, after all. She asks about where to put it, ah. Right, an explanation. He uses the rock in his possession to weigh down one end of the hide, gesturing to the other as she grips the stone. "That end, to keep the edges down while it dries." The shadow's grasp on the common tongue was still less than ideal, but it was good enough.

Satisfied, he tucked his knife beneath the hide for safekeeping and climbed to his feet before leaping from his perch. It's with great force that he lands, taking a couple steps to catch himself. Maybe the shadow was too big to be doing it, but it was at least a bit fun. "You lead?" Tove had seen the oxen, after all. Viðarr was happy to follow her steps, and would do his best to keep up. Easily, he stretched his muscles, dropping to a bow for his shoulders before rocking forwards to stretch through his hips. Inelegant, maybe, but effective. The shadow cast a gaze upon his dogs as well, calling to them both. "Komsi komsi," ah yes, time to go.

"Viðarr"