Sometimes we break, sometimes we build

He watches at his distance as Astraios handles the sheep. Reaching out to give a smack to encourage it along, but then, he would have probably done the same thing. They really would need to get herding dogs of some sort, something that would help tend and round up the flock. The viking king filed it away for later, another thing for his to-do list. Maybe they could just steal them from the same pack that had yielded sheep. Then, he was likely better trading for them, knowing the importance of actually having dogs that listened to and respected them. For now, it will go on the list of tasks for the thralls.

Speaking of which, watching the boy as he returned the sheep to its temporary enclosure, Viðarr figures that it's good enough. Trotting toward Strai and the hastily fabricated pen, his mind is made up. "The sheep will be part of your responsibilities." He gives the instruction with a nod. "Keeping them fed, watered. Checking the fence." His tone carries some finality, Viðarr wasn't one to take argument. Still, he watches the boy carefully, wondering if he'll protest.

"Viðarr"