above the surface it seems quiet and calm

It had been some time since Viðarr had assembled his bracers, the little jet points beginning to wear in their settings within the leather. The passage of time... how strange. How strange it all was, the viking considered. So much time, and so little, all at once. He longed for the company of his sisters, of his family. Too much time, and they'd all wandered on. Too much time. A cold knot in the pit of his stomach had formed not so long ago. He'd need to follow them soon. It had been family above all, and now he was the only one (as far as he knew), left. A disservice to leave them without someone to look after them, to protect them. As soon as all the loose ends were tied up, he'd go on after them. Viðarr had made up his mind.

But there were still loose ends. But he was still here. But, but, but, the nagging voice in his head. He'd set camp for tonight within the Stone Steppe, carefully settling in. His companions were all within shouting distance, and he'd managed to get food down for the dogs. A fire was lit, and he'd use the heat from that to boil off some water. The fittings around the stones in his gauntlets needed to be repaired, and to do that, he'd need the hot water. Carefully, the shadow unrolled a bit of leather with sticky pine resin within it. Between the two materials, he should be able to get himself sorted out, and have his bracers fully functional again in no time.

"Viðarr"