Minutes to midnight

The metallic scent of blood flooded Víðarr's system. It wasn't blood from the prey they'd been processing, either. He'd only been gone for a few minutes, and something... something had happened. He picked up his pace as he headed down the mountain, head high, gaze burning. Víðarr had barely been gone, how the hell had something happened so quickly. Loping to the trapping camp on the edge of the Maw, there's fire in his gaze.

With a dramatic leap, the viking king put himself between his son and the assailant. A boy. A child. The child that had harmed his son. Still reeling from the incident with his granddaughter, this really had been the season for children getting into shit. A large, shadowed paw strikes at the pale boy. Víðarr wanted to pin him by the shoulder, wanted to slam the child to the ground. "You will explain to me what the fuck you are doing." His hackles rise across his back, and something burns darkly in his gaze.

"Víðarr"