An old moon

Autumn had settled in, and it would be time to shift the band away from the Wall. There were so many things that would come for them, but all in due time. Víðarr found himself a bit unsettled at the idea of moving camp... unsettled, but excited. Before long it would be winter, and they would need to find somewhere more protected to settle in and ride things out. Yes, all things would come in time. He was ready, and he knew that his family would be as well. He had some time, yet. There was always more time.

The battlefield called to him, as it often did. His companions on his heels, both dogs moving in perfect time. It was just as he crossed the ragged borders of the land that Víðarr caught the sound, a call that shattered the stillness of the day. Crystalline fragments scattering in every direction, they lift his pulse. Víðarr knows that it's nearly time, and he's excited. The man that had called, the issuer of the challenge, comes into view. Settling opposite his opponent, weight even over all four paws, the shadow speaks first to his companions. "Visa var skåpet ska stå," a grin plays over his features, and confidence is in no short supply. There would be no losing, not to a spar. He would win, or he would learn.

"Your terms?" A question to the man opposite him. It was only polite to ask, Víðarr figured. Right. Decorum, manners here, he's still a stranger to them. That was okay. He's excited though.

"Víðarr"