don't get cut on my edges

Víðarr had seen her, but he didn’t know her. If they were going to travel together, he needed to know them all, at least to an extent. Trust and safety in numbers were one of the few things that could keep anyone safe on the road. On their journeys, in their travels. Finally taking the time to seek out the sulky, reclusive creature would make the most sense.

He found her curled up by the river. “You cannot fish just by staring at the river,” the words came with a bit of a chuckle to himself, a bit of a smile. Víðarr, at least, thinks himself funny. Gently, he drops an elk’s pelt over the thin girl where she lay curled up before settling beside her. This would be a fine place for him to rest, as well as to make some repairs to his gauntlets. Carefully, he unrolled the soft skin that held his bundled gauntlets, tools, and the small sack of replacement studs and set to work tinkering with the studs that were worn and needed sharpening.

"Viðarr"