it was like fire around the brim

Víðarr · 03-05-2022, 04:33 PM

She was close, that was for certain. Close, but Viðarr was unflinching. He does not have concerns as he stands carefully, weight evenly distributed over all four paws. Women are intimidating to him in ways that the shadow can't explain in the common tongue. Women were a mystery, enchanting as they were. This one in particular leaves his heart beating in his chest in ways that are a bit... a bit interesting. A bit questionable, really... gods, he was surrounded by women all the time, and still he shows shades of struggling to have conversations with them. At least the ones that were always by his sides were family. Maybe the difficulty was in speaking with strangers? No, that couldn't be it.

Though he understands that she too, is a warrior. Tenshi carries herself with the same promised deadliness that Sanngriðr does. Viðarr recognizes it without question, but there's the thing about him-- he doesn't fear any warrior. The shadow fears not any brawl, any fight. He does not worry, and instead greets every conflict with a smile on his face. The fates have written his story already, and he's bound to it, come what may. Viðarr is confident that the gods are at his back, around his shoulders. No matter what, in the end, they'll choose they day that he dies at Odin's table within Valhalla. Viðarr need not fear any fall, any brawl, any scars. As it stands, he may simply live.

Between them, the tension could be cut with a knife. Still, it's a comfort to him. Maybe it's because Viðarr doesn't yet have a grasp on the common tongue, that speaking brings greater discomfort. Well... no, that wasn't even necessarily the case. Even in his mother tongue, words failed him regularly. Words were hard. Silence, intense as it is, was much easier. He can study Tenshi, and watch the way that she moves. The way that thoughts seem to surge within her. The shadow remains quiet, and simply listens. At least Viðarr is good at that. Emotions, after all, would always be hard.

Hattori the name comes, and one of Viðarr's ears flickers. This is a name that he doesn't know, strange and foreign to his ears. Politics escape him, and he doesn't know of the pack that has sprung up within Auster with one Hattori Hanzo at their head. No, he doesn't know. Not yet. In time, as the shadow rose to alphaship of his own pack, he would learn. That time had not come, not yet. "I do not know the family you seek," the words come with carefully composed neutrality. His siblings would be proud of his restraint here. "But I understand the hunger, the search for revenge." He offers his understanding, a consolation. Viðarr doesn't understand the art of biding your time, not in the same way his siblings did. His brand of violence is something reckless, unchained, impulsive. A berserker to his core.

"If they were in the north, we would know. All I can tell you is to turn your search south." Right, he'd still tell her what he knew. The north had been their home since arriving, and Viðarr was confident that they had turned over every stone here... they'd turned over each stone in turn and found them all barren, empty. No pack was crazy enough to call the north home... not yet. That would be the Trygg family, in time.

VÍÐARR
Ragnarök awaits.

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it was like fire around the brim

Víðarr