little bo peep has lost her sheep

There's something beautiful, if horrifying, about the place. Björn⁢ thrived within it, feeling the power singing from the very ground beneath his feet. Something both ancient and new, and ripe for exploring. Stone beneath his feet, worn smooth by years and whatever strange happenings had caused it to arrive. It seemed plain to him that the earthquakes had revealed what had been here all along, but what had caused the earthquakes? Between the howling and the horror within it, he's more than comfortable here. Whatever time he had left, he'd make the most of it. More than make the most of it, if Ragnarök would come for them soon.

Drinking it in, feeling the sheer ancient energy here, is everything he needs. Drawing on its power, and pushing him closer to the girl. Ah, she looked nervous. Good. Björn⁢ would allow himself to go drunk on the feeling, but his control is careful. He's not slipping. Not yet. "There will be no land left to be landlocked, when the time comes. Every last bit will be eaten up, swallowed whole by the hungry ocean." Björn⁢ snaps his teeth for emphasis, in no particular direction. His tone rich with conviction, all the same as his father's when he told the tale.

Her words shift, tone shifts, his mother tongue sticking in her mouth and on her lips. Björn⁢'s grin shifts, breaking from the storyteller's conviction back to the picture of a confident young man. Self assured. "Sötnos," he enunciates, slowly and carefully, the same way he'd heard his older brother teach the language. "It's what my people call pretty girls, especially the ones who haven't introduced themselves." Rakish and relaxed, too at home in the strange atmosphere. "Björn⁢ Trygg, by the way." A dip of his antlered head, assessing the girl openly. Never anything to hide, and why should he? A predatory gleam in his stormy gaze, though he'd stop short of truly leering. For now.

"Björn"