Caught in the wind

A low, ominous chuckle echoed from the chest of the viking king. Confident. The creature before him wanted to be confident. Víðarr allowed a grin to drip over his expression, hackles rising in return. Something seems to have gotten under the stranger's skin. It's odd to watch it spring to the forefront. Was he facing down a madman for seemingly no reason? Too soon to tell. Then there's the viking king, shadowy and imposing. Ancient, brilliant things beginning to flicker to life. Embers, stoking to a flame. Icy expression hardening, he rushes to meet his opponent with devastating force.

With intent to sunder, he meets the creature's jaws. Slamming forward-- if the creature before him wanted to bite, let it. The pain brings him to life, adrenaline coursing through his system. In retaliation, Víðarr strikes out wildly. His jaws snapping, teeth glimmering in the sunlight. He wants the tender flesh of the challenger's face beneath his teeth. From high above, his owl companion dives in to strike. Her razor sharp talons seek purchase on the top of the stranger's head. Víðarr would do what he could to remain closely in step with his opponent. The closer he stays, the better his chances at maintaining control, in his mind.

"Víðarr"