He knows that his very presence can be... much. Maybe less, in a world filled with wolves who had antlers, fangs, horns, and tusks. The shadow's finery is only in his plainness-- a blessing. Still, he's large, and forgives any suspicion that could be cast on him.
The woman's words bring a chuckle to Víðarr's throat, the twitch of a rueful smile to the corners of his lips. "My daughter had a pack here." That is to say, he had, and suffers no longer. Fondness, pride rings in his tone of voice, though. My daughter. He'd adopted her, and Celeste was as much his as the others. Gaze shifting to the woman, Víðarr moved to a more comfortable, conversational distance. Not applying pressure, but shouting in the desert at night wouldn't be his finest choice. "You look comfortable in the desert." It's an observation. She looks competent in the inhospitable terrain, looks like the arid climate... suits her. Finely boned, graceful. The kind of creature who is at home on the sand. Not envy, but respect.
"Speech"
Víðarr has two Karelian bear dogs and a white morph tawny owl. Assume they're within calling distance unless otherwise stated.
Víðarr speaks with a dense Swedish accent.
Cooperative
![[Image: bfcOTDt.png]](https://i.imgur.com/bfcOTDt.png)
