Casual chains

Once Víðarr was certain she was adequately free, he joined the woman on the slog back to shore. The water certainly got chillier at night, and Víðarr was grateful for the layer of insulation beneath his coat. In truth, the man didn't miss many (ahem, any) meals. A capable hunter and a man who showed his love for his family through food, there would be leftovers and nowhere to store them. Couldn't let that go to waste, after all. Call it a dad bod, or something like that. As they made their way to shore, the shadow looked to his owl perched in the nearest tree. "Tack," and a nod-- she was dismissed. Glad to be freed of service, the bird made herself scarce.

Making sure he was clear of the woman, Víðarr shook the water from his coat. He hadn't been in the estuary nearly as long, and more of his pelt had been above water. That, and he nearly radiated heat, something about the viking blood that ran hot in his system. "I am glad I did," the words aren't quite what he hoped them to be, but he's no poet. Still in a virtual knife fight with the common tongue every time he tried to get into a conversation, some things were harder to change. "Víðarr Trygg," an introduction of his own as he takes the time to really see her. Sedna. A soft sort of smile coloring the corners of his lips, the light in his eyes.

"You are cold, come." An observation, and an offer. The shadow offered his side, moving to settle at the base of one of the stately trees, upon the mossy ground. He wouldn't press the issue, but she was cold and Víðarr could probably fix that.
"Víðarr"