Not Your Swan Song

The woman speaks, and she grins. It's the kind of grin that Víðarr has seen before, maybe a bit unhinged. Unhinged is good-- he can work with unhinged. Hell, he's been known to have his own bouts of unhinged, himself. Still, his head tips a bit in one direction, curious. "Who is Medusa?" Was there someone out here that was far meaner, someone he'd have to worry about? Though Víðarr didn't fancy himself a worrier, being out here on his own came with risks. That, and there wasn't much distance between the Willows and the Stargazer camp. Any threat was enough to put him on high alert, for the sake of his family.

Still, the thought of a snack is also looming in his mind. By the way the woman beside him was licking her lips, by the way she was looking at the swans, it was viable that she had the same thought. "If we rush it, we can probably catch before it flies." Víðarr still finds the common tongue clunky in his own mouth. Foreign, colored in a dense accent. For a wolf alone, it may be a challenge. Surely for both of them? Well, for both of them hopefully it'll be just fine.

"Víðarr"