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

She isn't wrong. Viðarr knows she isn't wrong. Still, it doesn't make things sting any less. She has every right to be upset with him, and he knows that he owes her an apology-- not just with words, but with his actions too. While it would take time, the shadow knows it's his responsibility. "Jag är ledsen," the words are quiet, quieter than they'd come a moment before. A man of few words, Viðarr never seems to have the right ones at the right time.

What seems to come out of nowhere, though, is the-- what the fuck was that? A fucking donkey? Confusion creased his brow, and before he knew it, Róta was slamming into him as well. Viðarr staggered, stumbling. While he still reached out to grab his sister on the way down, to take her with him, he was scrambling in an attempt to regain control of his body. No such luck, as he crashed to the dirt below him. The shadow couldn't help but give a hearty chuckle as Róta referred to the creature as her son. Some things don't change, and for that he is grateful.

"Viðarr"