Winter had come, and he'd returned. Víðarr always seemed to find his way back here. There was something strangely comforting about the coverage the Wall provided. A good perch, and a good break from the wind, depending on the direction and his mood. This was as good a place as any to post himself up, to make himself feel at home. One of the places, one of the spaces that called him back time and time again. One of, as the others were less accessible right now. The woods had been taken by a pack, and the forest beside it was too close for comfort. Those things would shift in time, would change. If the shadow had to bring about change on his own then by the gods, he would. Still, he would bide his time. Víðarr is more intelligent, more calculated than he would let on, after all. With snow piled high on either side, the crumbling wall didn't seem nearly as high off the ground as it typically did. Carefully, he picked his way to the top, leaping up the last bit of incline. From his perch, he could see well off in either direction. This was a good way to spend the fading winter sunlight, in his mind. The afternoons would grow longer soon. For now he can enjoy the cold and the dark, but it wouldn't always be the case. For now he could enjoy his scraps and shreds of solitude, too. Not that he'd complain about company, but it can be nice sometimes. Being alone with his thoughts? Something like that. A stiff breeze comes in from the east, and the shadow tilts his face into it. This. This is what it truly means to be alive. For that, he is grateful. "Víðarr"

Hattori was not used to the cold of the north, how the frigid wind ruffled his coat and sunk into his skin. After living in Auster so long he struggled to see why anyone would want to pass through the region, let alone settle down permanently with a pack or two. And yet as Hattori pushed through the snow he was quick to spot a dark figure standing out amongst the white and greys of the northern scenery. The stranger stood atop the wall and tilted his face towards the incoming wind, as though the cold didn't bother him in any sense. Hattori blinked slowly, realising that this stranger carried a familiar scent. Or at least he had spent time with his son and Celeste. Is this where their failed pack had wandered off to? As from the desert sands they could get?

"Speech"

Víðarr would not be alone for long, it seemed. From the south a stranger approached, dark and orange against the stark winter landscape. It's a careful assessment, considering as he neared. The colors, the build of this man, it wasn't so unlike Celeste's companion. Not the sulky one, the other one. The boy was relatively loud, but seemed to make his adopted daughter happy. Víðarr had met worse men in his travels, but his trust would be hard-won and would take time. Kuroki was young yet, and had much to learn. And there was the question of the stranger. Víðarr's gaze was curious, appraising. Should he greet the stranger? Probably, especially before the dogs had anything to say about his appearance here. "Hej," he calls. Though the shadow's voice isn't all that loud, it resonates from somewhere deep in his chest. Polite, neutral. He would wait for the man to come closer before saying anything more. "Víðarr"

The two men regard one another for a moment, quiet and contemplative, sizing one another up as their silver gazes meet. There was no outright sense of danger in the air, it was clear both men were more than capable of looking after themselves. But to what end? What would it amount to if they clashed? Hattori stepped closer, wide paws smushing the snow beneath his weight. Everything smelled cold here, like the northern chill sunk into everything and not just his heavy bones.

"Hello. You know Celeste, yes?" He said, stating what he'd previously had in mind before. He was unsure of what to make of this stranger, as though they were cut off the same cloth but not quite. Just a little off.

There's something strange hanging in the air between them, though Viðarr couldn't quite put a name to it. Though he was tense, there seemed to be an understanding stretching between the two men. An unspoken agreement, though each carefully sized the other up. Watching. Waiting. A chess game, though each had a slightly different version of the rules. There wasn't a true language barrier here, but one of cultures. So it seemed, they were similar in all the ways that mattered.

The stranger asks of Celeste, and Viðarr is quick to respond. "I do," his tone carefully neutral. "Why?" That was the first and most important question. Secondary to that, it would be who? but the shadow supposed one question would answer the other. It's at this point Viðarr steps down from the wall, navigating with all the ease a behemoth of his stature can muster. His posture remained composed and neutral, not wanting to appear as if to threaten the stranger. No, it would just be easier to have a conversation if they were eye to eye.

"Viðarr"

His response was short but not sweet nor sour. A simple statement, a matter of fact that he would not deny. Hattori nodded, understanding why the man wished to know. He watched as the dark stranger scaled down the wall so they were both standing at eye level, close enough to narrow the distance between them with a single lunge.

"I know her. She knows my son." Both parts were true, but the second was more than that, certainly, knowing him. "They have markings like me." Making them both kin, in a sense. No doubt in the same way this one would regard those who also spoke his language and understood his culture.

There is no threat, but there is understanding. Viðarr is protective over the small koi girl with the ram horns. He'd made her a promise, though it wasn't even a pact made aloud. The shadow is a protector, and he takes that role seriously. The response that comes is an acceptable one, and plausible in Viðarr's mind. The shadow considers for a long moment before nodding. "He is noisy, but means well." His words come from a place of sincerity. They come with a bit of a mischievous glimmer, maybe the hint of a chuckle. There is fondness here.

They are all of the same culture, the same creed. This is something that Viðarr can understand. "I am Viðarr Trygg." The introduction comes without ceremony. The shadow doesn't know what the custom here is, but then, between two strangers from far away lands that doesn't matter much either. There is safety in that. There is safety and understanding between both of them as outsiders. Powerful, quiet, dangerous... but outsiders all the same. There was power in that, and danger in that. There was far more strength in being outside together than the average man knew. They know.

"Viðarr"

Noisy but means well... Hattori supposed he could see that, in a sense. His boy had a lot of faults, more than he cared to count, but there was a goodness in him. An earnestness that came with being so blunt and forthright, saying entirely the wrong things with the wrong tone but somehow meaning little offence. The boy would never grow up, never take the world seriously, Hattori had realised that no matter how much he'd pushed Kuroki wouldn't budge. Was it out of stubborn spite? Perhaps, or the boy was a monster of Hattori's own making.

"Hattori." He offered his name in turn, a slight dip of his head as was customary. It was clear that they weren't conversationalists, only stating what needed to be said. Hard facts with opinions conveyed in tone. "You do not seem the sort to wander aimlessly." He observed, feeling as though the wanderings of Celeste's band might not entirely to live up to his man's true goals. Those that seem to be buried in snow.

The complexities in the relationships between fathers and sons are something Viðarr knows all too well. He refused to allow thoughts of his father often, but he held a bitterness toward his sire that couldn't be healed. There were no telling what mistakes the shadow would make with his own sons, and in all likelihood, they'd be much the same. Only time would tell.

Hattori. He nods once back to the man, mirroring his movement. Though his manners were rough, he wasn't uncivilized. "Neither do you." It was a fair observation, and by all means not untrue. "When I first arrived with my family we settled here and in the woods just beyond." The shadow speaks now, more words than he's strung end to end in a while. As he speaks, his accent seems to grow more pronounced, as Viðarr finds keeping up the practice of chasing it away to be a chore. A pack lived in the woods now, though he didn't know quite how far they ranged. Still, this place calls him back. Still, here he is. His tone is carefully composed neutrality, emotion concealed carefully. Playing his cards close to his chest.

"Viðarr"

Hattori knew he was not, and yet here he was. Far from Tojo, deep in the snow with a bitter wind rustling his coat, sheening the black iridescent. The Kaicho had a feeling there was much the norther was not saying, that something had happened to separate himself from his family, others who would fit in well with this cold and harsh climate. Strong wolves from a relentless land. He wondered if they were anything like the Ainu, ruggedly built wolves who were seemingly of an older stock, more base and in touch with nature.

Hattori thought on it for a moment, realising that those woods were now taken, claimed by the Armada. No wonder there was a slight hint of bitterness in his tone regarding this topic.

"You also do not seem the sort to wait around for things to change." Hattori then pointed out, pale brows furrowing slightly. Going up against the Armada was not a move to be taken lightly, both of them knew this, surely.

Silent understandings build men like the ones before you. Quiet suits them, and needless words only server to muddy the waters. No, something was very, very clear between the pair. Comfort in silence, despite being near strangers. Comfort in the way they both fill the space around them. Understanding. Viðarr is grateful for this understanding. Much would remain unsaid, and yet here they stood. Companionable.

"No, but the time needs to be right to make change." The words were careful, measured. Víðarr spends his nights thinking about this, and the quiet moments that he steals on his own. He thinks about it when they walk, and when he hunts on his own. So much thinking, but rarely does he voice this plan. This opinion. These things that are rattling about in his head. "Until that time comes, I can make ah... meaningful connections here, at least." Carefully chosen words, though they feel strange on his tongue. Víðarr enunciates, feeling the foreignness of them as he speaks. He can only hope he's used them correctly, but then, it shouldn't matter too much. His companion would hopefully understand regardless.

"Viðarr"

Hattori knew what it was like to be an outsider here, to be unfamiliar with the workings of Boreas and the packs that resided on its shores. But the phrase of meaningful connections stuck out to the Kaicho, so he was biding his time and sewing seeds so that roots may take hold? His dark lips pursed in thought, that explained the seeming inaction for now. Such things took time, Hattori realised that as empires were not built in a day.

"Many wolves here are resistant to change." Hattori explained, imagining the man would come across some resistance from the locals. His way of doing things would make him enemies and they may be numerous. "But it must be done, things cannot stay as they are." And Hattori firmly believed that some were too comfortable with the status quo.

An empire cannot be built in a day, but it can burn in one. Víðarr strikes a delicate balance now. Though he lives to upset the status quo and loves nothing more than seizing the day, the timing needed to be right. He needed to have the strength, he needed to have the connections, he needed to understand the landscape that he was about to change. That understanding was hard to come by, at least by any means other than experience.

Hattori's words are confirmation of things that Víðarr suspected. "That is why men like you and me are important." Maybe he's being bold in showing his read on the man, but it seems to be something that both understand. The words carry weight where they stand in the air between them. Still, Víðarr can't reveal too much. In some ways, he may have said too much already. No matter, though.

A gentle change in subject, the shadow remembers something. "Ah, before I forget-- congratulations Hattori, you are going to be a grandfather." Víðarr delivers the news with a warmth, though he was curious to see the man's reaction. The viking, for one, was excited. Always excited about the prospect of children in the landscape, and he adored them so. He didn't know if they'd be the koi's first grandchildren, and he wasn't close enough to Kuroki to ask. Still, any grandchildren were good grandchildren. Any children were good children. A sign of the times, and a sign of the band thriving. Something to be pleased about.

"Viðarr"