Today we fight, tomorrow we fight, the day after...

There is a violence to her, and it's one that he understands. If there is something that both of them understand better than their own flesh, better than their own blood, better than their own souls, it's violence. That's why they both settle into it the way they do. Fighting comes easily. Violence comes easily. Blood comes easily. Emotions do not. Processing emotions? Perhaps that's even worse. They are too similar to be able to speak of such things. Instead they fight.

Her words are enough to stagger him, and the blow to his shoulder in the same breath. It was already tender from her assault moments prior, and this? He can feel it in the worst way. Róta's words hurt him more. Though the shadow loses his balace for a heartbeat, he digs in and lashes back. "Tror du att jag slutat leta?" The words are nearly shouted, spat at his sister. To think so little of him-- Viðarr was angry. Though he had settled into another band, though he had taken up protecting someone who needed him, the idea that he had stopped looking for his family is an offense. As he regained his balance and his footing, the shadow moves to slam into the ruddy woman's side. His teeth flashing in the sunlight, though he doesn't mean to do harm. Viðarr has caused enough harm, though his emotions ran high.

If he could pin her, he could talk to her. Still, he knows that he can't get a grip on her, not like this and not right now. They would need to fight things out to sort whatever emotions were happening now. He owes it to her.

"Viðarr"