It was official. They'd come together as a band, and Viðarr was already feeling stronger. More settled. More comfortable. He gazed on carefully at his dogs as they played at the foot of the wall, a rousing game of bitey face. Typical, he smirked to himself. Fairly typical, and he wouldn't stop them. Viðarr feels no need. Summer had melted away as well, something he was more than grateful for. Already the days were shorter, cooler, more comfortable. Around his shoulders, the afternoon sun shone brightly.

Between his paws, the shadow pinned down a hide. Across it, he scraped a chunk of flint with a sharpened edge. Right, needed to brush away all of the remaining bits of flesh. On the other side, fur still remained, the last suggestion that this had been a deer at one time. If they were going to stay around the north in the coming winter, they'd need the hides to keep warm. Many of their members were smaller, and some were less suited to the cold altogether. Right. He'd prepare things so they were just so. Viðarr would take care of them all. That was his job now, but hell, it always had been.

Well and truly, it always had been his job. Now it was just more official. From his perch upon the wall, Viðarr was able to keep a dutiful watch. His home was wherever his family was, after all.

"Viðarr"

The nebula-clad wolf has been out roaming the nearby land when her duel-toned eyes had spied a small cluster of musk ox. Tove knows that group needs meat and what would be better than take down a young musk ox? It could feed the family for a bit. Careful not to spook the herd, Tove quickly made her way back to where they have settled. As she approaches the broken spine that is the wall, the woman sees the large shadow working atop the stones. Paws pick up speed and she calls out, “Viðarr! There is a small group of musk ox nearby! They have a couple young with them. Will you join me on a hunt?” Stopping near the base of where he lounges, Tove offers him a huge, excited grin, eager to go hunting.

Tove makes her way up to where Viðarr works and eyes the various tools that the shadow uses. As he scrapes off the flesh, Tove helps by pinning the hide down with her white-tipped paws, waiting to hear what he has to say.

"Tove Baade"

He can smell Tove long before he sees her. The shadow was content to keep his attention on the afternoon's project, at least until someone needs him. Right, different days, different needs. He'd learn how to change gears eventually. Flexibility... well, that was his sisters' strong suit, usually. Still, Víðarr would learn how to go with the flow in time. As he gets to the edge of the pelt itself, he finally looks up to see the galaxy-spun woman before him. Musk ox... that sounded good, actually. Carefully, he set down his flint blade. "Hand me this rock," he gestured to one of the rocks that had chipped from the wall itself, certainly heavy but not all that large. "And this one, ah... snälla." Right, he should tack a please on there somewhere, even if he didn't recall quite well enough.

"And then we can go." He scraped at one remaining piece of flesh on his hide before setting the blade down once more. Right. Yes. He'd just need to tack the hide down to dry in the sun, and prevent the edges from curling. Learning how to be flexible but ah... good enough. The shadow smiled to Tove and watched as both dogs bounced to their feet, still swatting at each other with playful paws.

"Viðarr"

Tove is eager to hunt but Víðarr is working on his hide. Oh right, probably a good idea to finish that fist. When he gestures for a rock, instructing her to give it to him, the nebula wolf nods and grabs it, carefully passing it to the shadow. He points out another one and again, Tove passes the rock. Watching the way Víðarr meticulously cleans the hide, the nebula woman becomes mesmerized. His stokes are sure and he doesn’t waste energy. She decides to ask him to teach her these techniques later. As he scrapes the last of the flesh off, Tove offers a smile and asks, “Where should we put it?” Head tilts in curiosity and she waits for the shadow to finish his work before starting their hunt.

"Tove Baade"

He hums a soft thanks as she passes each rock, allowing a soft smile to curse his lips. Right, he could let himself smile. He could let himself show some shade of emotion here. There was nothing wrong with that. The stoic face that he usually defaults to... it can soften. Viðarr is allowed to soften himself here. Tove was family now too. His family. It's always been about more than blood, after all. She asks about where to put it, ah. Right, an explanation. He uses the rock in his possession to weigh down one end of the hide, gesturing to the other as she grips the stone. "That end, to keep the edges down while it dries." The shadow's grasp on the common tongue was still less than ideal, but it was good enough.

Satisfied, he tucked his knife beneath the hide for safekeeping and climbed to his feet before leaping from his perch. It's with great force that he lands, taking a couple steps to catch himself. Maybe the shadow was too big to be doing it, but it was at least a bit fun. "You lead?" Tove had seen the oxen, after all. Viðarr was happy to follow her steps, and would do his best to keep up. Easily, he stretched his muscles, dropping to a bow for his shoulders before rocking forwards to stretch through his hips. Inelegant, maybe, but effective. The shadow cast a gaze upon his dogs as well, calling to them both. "Komsi komsi," ah yes, time to go.

"Viðarr"

Tove watches as the shadow offers a tight smile as she passes him the stone, worry fluttering in her chest that she is bothering him. But, as she looks at the stoic Viðarr, she watches his features soften and she offers him a gentle smile in return. Duel-toned eyes watch as Viðarr tacks down one side of the hide, instructing her to use the rock she holds to weigh down the other end. Nodding, Tove carefully places the rock before watching the large wolf tuck his flint knife away and leap from his perch. As he recovers, the nebula wolf nimbly clambers to his side, offering him a wide smile.

Viðarr’s question is answered with a firm nod and Tove takes the lead, quickly moving back down the path she had come from. White tipped ears flick back as he calls for his dogs and the small pack makes their way to the musk ox. Shifting with the wind to keep their scents from reaching the ox, the trek is slow but rewarding. Crouching low in the tall grass that populates the area, Tove points out the young musk ox that is wandering a little further away from the adults.

Turning her duel toned eyes to the shadow, she whispers, “I can herd it toward an ambush spot, if you want. Or we can run it down. Up to you.” A smile spreads as the thrill of the hunt takes hold and Tove awaits Viðarr’s plan.


"Tove Baade"

He considers his early memories of his father, a creature too proud to pass off the leadership of his hunt. Too proud, too arrogant, maybe either of the two. Viðarr had already vowed, time and time again, that he'd never be his father. If being an asshole was genetic then so be it, but he'd never be that much of an asshole. Maybe he'd be worried about that later. He offers a smile to Tove as she stands beside her, nodding once. Yes, she'd lead.

They take off, making their way in the direction of the musk ox. His icy gaze was brilliant, glimmering. Sun warm on his shoulders, a spring in his step... yes, autumn (early as it was, yet) was far more agreeable than summer had been. Even this far north, the heat that had taken on the midsummer had been stifling. The hot days would be less and less now, and he could enjoy himself in the afternoons again. They crouched low in the tall grasses downwind from the oxen, and Viðarr can see the youngling she points out. One of the babes that had been calved in the middle of the summer, not yet strong enough to pose much of a threat to the pair.

"We wait in the trees, here," he indicates a small copse of sparse trees not far off, down wind, enough cover for the larger male and his dogs. "Bring him toward us?" It's a proposal, his eyebrows raised slightly. Viðarr would offer her the chance to speak up if she'd like it, after all. She'd tracked the oxen, and if she wanted to take some of the leadership for the hunt, he'd welcome it. Still, he knows well that Tove is faster than he, and the shadow is better off in the ambush spot than doing the actual herding.

"Viðarr"

Duel-toned eyes watch the shadow’s face as she offers options, a smile breaking over her dark lips as he suggests she herds. Truthfully, Tove loves to run, the thrill of breaking the young one off from the rest of herd while trying to avoid hooves and any danger that the adults might throw at her… it made Tove feel alive. Happily, she whispers, “Perfect. I will wait until you are in position. Oh and Viðarr? Be careful.” Giving the shadow a small, tense smile, Tove turns her eyes back to the grazing ox. Slowly, carefully, the nebula clad wolf sneaks closer to the target, cautious not to give her position away.

When she is as close as she dares to get, Tove looks to the spot that Viðarr had pointed out before, locking eyes with the shadow. With a short dip of her head as warning, the nebula woman bursts forth from the grass, growling and snapping, making as much noise as she possible can. The oxen move, a flurry of hooves and bodies. Tove works to sperate the young ox from the rest and drive him toward the killing spot.


"Tove Baade"

Alive. He burns with it too, the very feeling of his heart throbbing in his chest. The autumn breeze in his coat. The sun on his back. A good day for a hunt, yes. Alive and feeling absolutely brilliant. Gods, they'd been gifted with another good day. Everything was beautiful, and Viðarr was going to make the absolute best of it. He offered a nod to her words, already making his way in the direction of the copse of trees. Still, the last bit... he paused. The shadow cast a gaze over his shoulder, thoughtful. "You also." It caught him off guard, in truth.

He doesn't dwell. Viðarr moves quickly, quietly, with a dog at each flank. They're mindful of the wind's direction as they move, settling carefully in the shadows cast by the trees. It's when he's in position that he makes full eye contact with Tove and nods. As she moves, there's a flash of hooves and the panicked sounds coming from the oxen. Chaos erupts from them all, and Viðarr can feel it feeding his very nature. Off and running the creature comes his way, comes their way. Once Tove has the creature parallel to their spot, all three spring forth, moving as a singular unit. Viðarr with his gnashing teeth, and the dogs with their practice steps. Though hulking in figure, these are movements that have been practiced time and time again. Hunting was an art and a science, after all. Contact with the beast was fluid, but it would be harder to truly take it down than this.

Viðarr's heart pounded in his chest. Yes, this is what it truly meant to be alive.

"Viðarr"

The thunder of the hooves matches the thundering of her heart. Everything is sharper, colors brighter as the adrenaline courses through her veins, driving Tove to move faster and react quicker. She separates the young ox, bringing him closer and closer to the spot where death waits. The shadow appears, teeth gnashing, paws moving… a fearful sight for any of the hulking beast’s enemies. The trio make contact with the ox, the fight for survival entering its final phase. Tove races into the fray, grabbing a hind leg and throwing her weight backward. Her goal is pull the leg out from under the creature, to bring the mighty beast low to give Viðarr a clean shot at its throat. The fight will be over soon, the young ox just didn’t know it yet.

"Tove Baade"

The two wolves are the balance of nature. They'd give and take away... today, they were taking. They would take what they needed to survive, what they would need to feed their family through the winter. They'd take the ox from the earth, and in return, they'd be able to survive for a while longer. It's enough. They are enough. Survival... yes, their very survival meant that hunting and killing was a necessity. Viðarr doesn't worry about it, at least not much.

Tove brings the calf staggering, and the dogs help her to imbalance it further. Viðarr had learned from their first hunt here, on Boreas. He was careful with the direction that the beast would fall, ensuring it would be in a direction that wouldn't jeopardize any of his companions. With a flash of teeth in the sunlight, the shadow sinks his jaws into the throat of the creature. Though it cries out, it's muted. The taste of blood in his mouth, the ox goes down. It's only when the creature is done flailing that Viðarr takes a step back, that he releases his grasp. Somewhere in the fray he'd taken a kick to the shoulder... when had that happened? It's only now, as the adrenaline fades, that he can feel the dull ache. Still, it's the dull ache of a job well done. The shadow takes a moment to assess the others with his gaze, catching his breath. "Well done." He pants, shaking some of the blood from his maw. Yes, well done indeed.

"Viðarr"

The work as team, the dogs helping Tove to pull the ox off balance. White fangs flash and Viðarr brings the calf down, the metallic scent of blood, filling the air. The nebula wolf steps back, flicking her tongue over her lips to rid it of the excess blood. Chest heaves slightly from the run but Tove flashes a huge smile as the shadow commentis on a job well done. As they stand there catching their breath, the scent of blood heavy in their nostrils, a rustling sound comes from some nearby trees. Brows furrowing, Tove turns to inspect the brush and trees.

A grizzly bear bursts onto the scene, roaring loudly as it charges toward their kill. No! She will not allow this bear to take what they worked so hard to get! Putting her body between the dead ox and the bear, Tove lowers her head and scrunches up her scruff. Eyes narrow, eyes flatten as the nebula wolf readies to fight for what is rightfully theirs. The bear roars its outrage at the wolf that dares to defy it and Tove pulls her lips back to show her teeth in response. This bear is going down.


"Tove Baade"

The dogs pick up on the shift before even Viðarr does. It's as if some sixth sense takes them over-- they're bear dogs after all. They're bred for this. Still, between their reaction and Tove's, the shadow picks up on it too. His gaze slides to the brush, to the trees. Bear. Grizzly bear, large and brown, all paws and claws and teeth. It was in for a reckoning, having chosen the wrong target. The wrong wolves to attempt to scavenge, or steal from. The shadow is hulking, turning on deft paws, fixing it with a burning gaze.

Both dogs move in time as well. As Viðarr steps up to put himself between Tove and the grizzly, each surges forward in time. Gnashing teeth and claws dug into the ground, Viðarr lunges towards the bear next. Three sets of teeth, three sets of claws. How dare such a creature threaten his family? There's a protective nature that kicks in before Viðarr knows what's happening. It's less about the prey and more about Tove. Relentless, reckless, the shadow has already made up his mind. As the dogs imbalance the bear and pull it from its hind legs onto all fours, Viðarr goes straight for the throat. Something has snapped, in the moment. This isn't about repelling the predator, no. This is about neutralizing the threat in the basest sense of the word.

Going down would be an understatement.
"Viðarr"

Tove sees the shift, not in the dogs or the bear but in Viðarr. An anger, deep, boiling, all consuming fills the shadows eyes. The bear is met with teeth and claws. Three pairs of each, three times the death. Righteous indignation, protective fury… Viðarr is rage cloaked in the skin of a wolf. For a moment, Tove is stunned as the hulking shadow attacks the bear. The huge bear dogs and black wolf moving together… a team in every sense of the word. Still, the nebula cloaked wolf needs to be useful, has to prove that she worthy of this protection.

White dipped paws move swiftly, bringing Tove up beside the downed bear. White teeth flash forward as she grabs one of the bear’s paws and thrashes her head. It roars in pain, anger, and confusion but Tove doesn’t let go. Teeth grind and rip at the paw, mutilating the deadly appendage. This grizzly will never hurt anyone again.


"Tove Baade"

Nothing comes between the shadow and what's his. Nothing comes between the shadow and his family. He's possessive, but those are issues that will be explored in time. Possessive in that something has come between him and what he holds dear. Hell hath no fury like that which Viðarr unleashes in the direction of the bear. A snarl ripped through his chest, menacing. A switch has turned, and there is nothing that can or will hold him back. No, he will not be tamed. He will not be chained. Ceaseless, relentless, and dangerous.

The bear roared, and dully Viðarr becomes aware that Tove has joined him upon the bear. Danger. There was danger here, and she'd gone towards it instead of away. Excellent. Excellent, and still, he needs to protect her. Viðarr catches the bear's other paw across the shoulder as it tries to pry him away. That was the thing, wasn't it? Viðarr wasn't going to let go. Each of the dogs had taken one of the predator's back legs, and they were clinging to him, impeding his movements. Though the grizzly kicked out, he couldn't shake either one loose. He wouldn't shake either loose, as they hung on like it was their only job, only goal.

Viðarr burned brightly. Rage lived inside his chest, a fire that was only stoked as she felt the flesh on his shoulder laid open by a swipe of the unattended paw. He doesn't care. Viðarr doesn't give a singular, godforsaken fuck. Relentless. At the bear's throat he grabbed and clung, ripping with sharp, glimmering teeth. It would die. It would die by his hand, come hell or high water. The shadow wasn't letting go. Not for anything.

"Viðarr"

Duel-toned eyes look to the shadow, rage oozing from every fiber of his being. Tove hangs onto the paw she has claimed, teeth ripping and tearing apart the soft pad. This paw was her’s and Tove is determined to take it. The dogs have a hold of other paws, Viðarr the bear’s other shoulder. Deadly claws tear the flesh of the shadow’s shoulder and Tove feels anger burning in her chest. Viðarr doesn’t seem to notice, or care about the wound, so the nebula wolf takes the pain… and returns it to the bear

Stretching the grizzly’s leg out as the shadow goes for the throat, Tove whips the limp at an odd angle. A satisfying ‘snap’ of breaking bones fills the air and the wolf grins around the broken appendage. In its last moments, this bear will know pain. With the leg too damaged to move, Tove drops the paw and captures the swinging paw that is aimed for Viðarr. This is his kill and the nebula wolf will make sure that he does not receive any more wounds.


"Tove Baade"

The sickening snap of bone doesn't escape Viðarr, no. It fills the air, and he's grateful for it. To his side, he knows that Tove has rendered the predator immobile. Excellent. All of it was excellent. He feels, he breathes, he aches for the gore of it all. Gore. Yes, the gore. His face splattered with blood, Viðarr bears down on the creature's throat. Snarling, ripping, sinking deeper and deeper within it. Shredding. He holds to it and shakes, wrenches, rips as much as he can free. Alight with the absolutely wild nature of it all, Viðarr is so immensely and incredibly pleased. Alive.

The metallic taste of blood fills his mouth, and with one last, great yank he knows that he's caused enough damage. The bear lets go a sound that starts mighty, and fades to something far less than that. It was true, the creature went out with a bang. It wasn't a whimper, no. Even as the predator succumbs to its fate, there's a feeble attempt to shake Viðarr free. Valiant, but no match for them. No match for all of them. There were no free meals here. There wouldn't be any free meals here. The shadow's face is absolutely covered in blood as he finally peels away, panting. Adrenaline courses hotly in his system, and it's enough to push away the pain in his shoulder. It's enough, for now. The priestess would have his head when she looked at it later, but that was her right.

No, as he stumbles back from the hulking, crumpled form of the bear, his first concern is those around him. "You," he panted, catching his bearings. "You are okay?" He looked to Tove first, and then the pair of dogs as they circled back to the front of the bear's body. Would the shadow be able to forgive himself if they had been harmed? Likely not. Both dogs looked both unharmed and unimpressed-- a bear was just another day at the office for them. But Tove... was Tove okay?

"Viðarr"

Tove holds the paw still, duel-toned eyes watching the shadow indulge in his thirst for violence. No words are spoken as Viðarr rips vital organs apart. The shadow steps back yanking his head as he goes. Bright crimson arches through the air, the dying roar of a once mighty beast following his blood. A feeble attempt to shake loose Viðarr is given but it is too late. The light fades from the bear’s eyes and Tove releases the death-grip she had on its paw. As the shadow stumbles back, the nebula-clad woman approaches him cautiously, searches his face to see if he is still in a blood rage.

Viðarr looks around, asking if she is okay and Tove cracks a smile as she says, “I’m fine Viðarr. Which is more than I can say for you.” Nose pokes in the direction of his wounded shoulder as she moves toward him. Eying the wound, she nods her head absently, adding, “Well, I don’t think you’ll bleed out on the way back to the wall. Ready to go?” Tove moves to coordinate the dragging of the kills back before slowly leading the shadow home.


"Tove Baade"