face the unseen

He isn't alone for long. The Thrall boy pads towards him, smelling of sheep and a good day's work. The viking king would allow the shadow of a smile at the corner of his eyes, the corner of his lips, before returning to his thoughtful application of the ward to the tree. If he was going to invoke the gods, then he would do it with his heart. He would do it with his bones. He would invoke them with the power they'd lent him, and he would pray.

A moment later, Víðarr stepped back, satisfied with his work on this one. He turned to the boy, offering a nod. "What do you know of Heimdallr, boy?" The words are curious, they hold no ill will. No mocking. Víðarr simply wants to know exactly how much the child knows about the actions he's taking, the god he's invoking. Exactly what this particular patrol means for the pack as a whole. Maybe there'd be a bit of a religion lesson too, while he's at it.