axe time, sword time

From a distance, one might believe they see a wolverine descending from the slopes of Fenrir's Maw. Surely, the appearance and size of the creature that clambered its way down had to be a wolverine. The near-black fur that coats its back with its golden patches along its sides and rump was that of a Wolverine. Something was off though. The head. Its head was slightly off-kilter. Beady black eyes not quite the right size and though upper teeth showed, there appeared to be no jaw. As the creature grows closer, hurrying its steps toward the booming and guttural cry of the stranger, one can see that it is not an actual wolverine, but a wolf clad in a wolverine's pelt.

With winter forcefully blowing through Fenrir's Maw, the imp of a girl had been colder as of late. Not that she would be one to complain, but Vidarr had noticed. The shadowy titan noticed everything it seemed. When he had gifted her the wolverine pelt, she had taken it with begrudging thanks. He told her it would be easy for her to stay safe. Like she cared. Yet, she wore it anyway. Truth be told, it did keep her warm and dry, safe from the elements of the drizzling snow that littered the landscape. Plus, she was only a tad smaller than an adult wolverine so the carefully crafted pelt ended up fitting snugly over her body and legs with the head perched proudly atop of hers.

Approaching the female that had let loose a call at their border, Delphi meets her gaze with her own heterochromatic one. Ablaze with youthful energy, the small girl tilts her chin up to get a better look as she stops feet away, just on the other side of the border. "Do you fight?" Is all she says with a rather peculiar expression - one that is trying to stay neutral but can barely hide the mischievous smirk that tickles the corners of her lips.