don't get cut on my edges

She seemed annoyed, but frankly, Víðarr knows he has that effect on people. He’d picked up some of the nuances of the common tongue here in the last two years, and that sort of sigh from a woman well– he had sisters. Still, he’s comfortable as he continues on with making his repairs, sharpening the four sides of the stud back into a hard point. Pleased with this one, he sets it to the side, ready to be re-fitted. Onto the next one, lifting the stud from its leather prison, this one coming out far easier than the last. Víðarr frowned to himself, taking a moment to re-examine the setting that it had come out of. The leather here was starting to stretch and warp from use. Well, nothing some hot water and resin wouldn’t fix. Probably.

Her question gives him pause. Víðarr thinks on it for a long moment. “When I met Celeste she was barely a yearling, and all on her own.” He remembered the day well, a girl and her cat that had spent a pleasant afternoon by his side. “She is a fierce spirit, and reminds me well of my sisters. Family is more than just blood, and I look out for family.” They were friends, yes. Víðarr had taken a sort of responsibility for the girl as time had gone on. Nothing would happen to her, if he had anything to say about it.

"Viðarr"