Not Your Swan Song

Víðarr isn't sure he's ever met someone who referred to themselves in the third person, but that's okay. "Well, Medusa, I will keep that in mind." The viking offered a rakish grin, a toss of his head. She says she's mean, but he's not entirely sure he believes her. Regardless, it seemed like they had something fun laid out before them. The swan presented an excellent challenge. "Víðarr," he introduced, figuring they didn't have to be strangers any longer. Big stranger, well, she wasn't wrong.

With a nod and a moment to take a deep breath, the shadow sprung to life. Springing into action, rushing the swan. What Víðarr lacked in grace he made up for in pure, raw power. Muscles rippling beneath his thick, dark coat. Gaze burning brightly. Brilliantly. Yes, everything about him in that moment is absolutely brilliant. The swan came to life quickly, beating at the shadow with its wings. He snarled, trying to grab purchase anywhere he could on the creature's pale body. Gnashing, snapping teeth. Snarling and snapping, Víðarr is in his glory.

"Víðarr"