ge mig frid

Viðarr knew that his departure had far greater implications than he intended. He knew that things had gone wrong on a larger scale As soon as the bear had fallen, as soon as things had fallen apart around him, he'd run. But it was what he'd run after. It was his sister, his own sister, that had made off like a banshee into the night. She'd become something else on that night, she'd become something that he worried for, something that he feared. Someone he feared for. It was for her that Viðarr had gone.

An explanation but not an excuse. He owed them an explanation, all of them. Most of all he owed it to Tove, the one that wasn't his flesh and blood but had believed in him regardless. It was true-- he'd let her down. He'd let her down on the grandest scale, and Viðarr wasn't sure what he'd say when he had the chance. It was the valkyrie that he'd run after, and the child that had kept him away for so much longer.

It seemed that he'd get his chance to speak with her sooner than he expected. Viðarr's head lifted from where he'd been tracking across the ground, following each winding scent trail. His gaze fell upon the star soaked woman, softening. Softer than it had been in a long time. His voice, too, is soft when he speaks. "Tove, Jag--" It starts with I, but the phrase dies on his lips. He doesn't know what to say, and it was like all the breath had been sucked from his lungs. All the breath had been sucked from the entirety of the forest around him. "Hej," he finally says. Tone sheepish, head a bit lower set now. Though Viðarr knew he needed to apologize, he wasn't sure how. For now all he could do was... was look at her. The strange, slightly disquieting softness that befell the viking was one he coudn't put words to.

"Viðarr"