redo för ett slag

With new packs springing up in the area, it was safe to say that the shadow was on ever-higher alert. If he was caught trespassing he figured he'd simply lie or charm his way out... or pretend that he didn't speak the common tongue. Really, he had plenty of options. He had plenty of options until they started recognizing him for who and what he was, after all. If he couldn't lie his way out, he'd fight-- simple as that. A man of simple desires, as he was, after all. Viðarr would be ceaseless in the pursuit of what he wanted. Relentless.

But gathering information was different than relenting, as well. Rest, too, was important. All things could coexist, and so too, would the shadow and the world around him. There was a bark, a greeting, that pulled him from his thoughts. Viðarr knew that voice, and the scent that the breeze carried as it shifted. His head came up, and a charming grin played across his features as she came into focus. "Kiela, a welcome surprise," the tension of moments before melted away. Something about her, though Viðarr couldn't place just what, was a balm to the senses.

With long and admittedly excited strides, the shadow moved to close the space between them. A long, even lope. Couldn't look too eager, despite the fact that... well, he was.
When their distance was comfortable, Viðarr offered the side of his muzzle, a soft greeting. A friendly greeting, should she want to take it. Maybe it was forward, but he admittedly had a hard time not being forward with a woman quite so captivating. "Did winter treat you well?" The question was genuine as Viðarr took her in, gaze soft.