there was a great big moose, he liked to drink a lot of juice

Viðarr takes a moment to catch his breath, allowing his heartrate to slow back to normal. Gods, was he really tired that easily? With the recent growth, he'd been a bit more tired than usual. Things happened, he supposed, when he was chosen by the gods. Dully, he wondered if the priestess had encountered the same things, with her new fangs growing in. Viðarr would ask her on a day when she wasn't so fucking crabby. (Had the shadow not been so dense, he'd realize that she was likely cranky because she was tired, but we'll let that go for now. Poor bastard.)

"Who are you calling old," the shadow grinned, joking happily with the girl. She seemed to know what he'd ask next as well, and that brings a brassy chuckle to his throat, ringing through his chest. There's something comfortable about it all, and he's pleased. Carefully, he licks the blood from his lips and then his chest, not wanting to attract any predator attention as they settled to take a look at their fresh catch.

A boy? At this, the shadow raises his eyebrows, shooting a look at Celeste. "Do I need to come have a talk with this boy?" It's a skeptical look, a protective look. Yes, it was good that she'd found somewhere to stay, somewhere that was safe, but boys... well, boys didn't always have the best intentions. His pale gaze upon her was careful, studying. The boy had another girl around. His brow knit. "You let me know if I need to talk or talk with him, yes?" Feelings, you see, weren't the shadow's strong suit. Hurt feelings though, those could be solved with teeth. Those were something that the shadow could handle well enough for both of them.

"Viðarr"