axe time, sword time

Víðarr is a watcher, a guardian, a sentinel. Always watching, but only opening his mouth when it seemed really important. The watcher had confronted Delphi, in his own way. Had asked the child what was wrong, because... well, clearly something was. Scrambling for her place in the world, fighting for it. Fighting to figure out exactly what it meant to be... to be. Víðarr knew it was difficult, and could only think of the things he'd done at her age. Nearly a year old... his age, when he'd fled from his homeland on a grand adventure. The meaning of the adventure had still been unknown to him, then.

It's primarily Delphi on his mind as he sets about his daily chores, though thoughts of Astraios and the rest of the soon-to-be yearlings linger too. They would need mentors. Asking children what they wanted to do with the rest of their lives at this tender age was far too loaded. Still, he could cultivate their interests. He could teach them to fight, to defend themselves, to defend the Maw and their fellow man. It keeps his mind busy, at least, until a call rings out.

Víðarr is prompt, making his way towards the border of his home and the source of the call. Not prompt enough, it seems, as Delphi has beaten him to it. His gaze lands upon the stranger, assessing the large woman with his curious, icy gaze. "I am Víðarr Trygg. The mountain is home to my pack, Heiðinn." The viking king looms over Delphi's shoulder for a moment before drawing to a more conversational distance, beckoning the child to follow. "What is it you wish to say?" He's curious. The woman before him is... well, she's one of them. That much he could tell at a glance. She doesn't have the posture of a challenger, she's respected the scent markers at the border. Was this another warrior for his ranks?