Seymour had found her a most beautiful prey. A large bird, white with a long neck. Looked like a giant duck, but he said it was a swan and while she had no fucking clue what that was, she was eager to hunt one regardless. This one he said, was laying on a nest of eggs and would definitely be a bit of a task to hunt. But if she could get her teeth on that Swan, then she could get her paws on those eggs. Besides, she enjoyed a challenge. How hard could killing a bird be? She had killed plenty before, so she was definitely psyched for this. As she weaved through the willows, she heard a strange honking...or...trumpeting? Whatever it was, it was getting closer. She crept up through the trees, peering around a willow to find a pile of white fluffy feathers with a head attached to a long neck sitting on the ground near the water. Was that what had made the sound? It wasn't moving much, so she assumed that was the one her companion said was sitting on the nest. It was definitely a pretty big bird, but surely something she could take down on her own, right? "Medusa"

He is well accustomed to the sights and the stories of the swans. Víðarr thinks of the legends, of the reasoning the birds themselves are white. He thinks of the swan maidens. He thinks of all of the things, all of the reasons why they are the way they are. Why do none of the stories stop to tell that swans are fucking mean. While the band had settled in the Willows early in the spring, the shadow had quite a few run ins with the big ol' birds.

Maybe that's why he's less than amused to see them as he carefully makes his way through the Willows in search of a snack. As he peers at the creature, it's apparent he's not alone here. Víðarr draws closer to the woman. Though nearly as tall as Víðarr himself, she looked like she could use a good meal. Hell, she looked like she could use many good meals. Still sizing up their quarry as he joins her, the shadow considers the scene for a moment. "Swans are fucking mean," his remark is colored heavily by his accent, and maybe a bit of humor. "We could eat that one." Well, that was one way to make sure they were on the same page.

"Víðarr"

She watches the birds for a while, claws tapping into the dirt as she tries to think of a way to take one down. They were bigger than her. Nearly a foot taller give or take, and she knew it'd be a challenge, even with her three companions. Swans could fly, they had those long necks and big ass wings and looked like they could curb-stomp someone if they really wanted to. Frowning, Medusa began to pace but paused when she smelled someone approaching. A stranger, someone she hadn't met before. She whirled around to get a look at them, and came with a sight she didn't expect. A tall man, a rather handsome man, a man that looked like he had seen some shit. And apparently, a man that didn't like Swans. Her ears tilted at his words, a slow grin spreading on her face as she looked from tall, dark, and handsome to the feathery snake-necked bird that sat there, her partner nearby on the water. "Medusa has never seen a swan before, bet she's meaner than it!" She snapped her jaws together, tongue swiping out to lick her lips, eager to take one of the bastards down.

"Medusa"

The woman speaks, and she grins. It's the kind of grin that Víðarr has seen before, maybe a bit unhinged. Unhinged is good-- he can work with unhinged. Hell, he's been known to have his own bouts of unhinged, himself. Still, his head tips a bit in one direction, curious. "Who is Medusa?" Was there someone out here that was far meaner, someone he'd have to worry about? Though Víðarr didn't fancy himself a worrier, being out here on his own came with risks. That, and there wasn't much distance between the Willows and the Stargazer camp. Any threat was enough to put him on high alert, for the sake of his family.

Still, the thought of a snack is also looming in his mind. By the way the woman beside him was licking her lips, by the way she was looking at the swans, it was viable that she had the same thought. "If we rush it, we can probably catch before it flies." Víðarr still finds the common tongue clunky in his own mouth. Foreign, colored in a dense accent. For a wolf alone, it may be a challenge. Surely for both of them? Well, for both of them hopefully it'll be just fine.

"Víðarr"

"Who is Medusa?" Her head whips around to him, briefly confused by his question. Usually, others figured out by the way she talked that she was Medusa, but maybe she had said it differently and didn't realize? "Me! I am Medusa!" She flashed a grin again, teeth clicking together as she returned her attention to the swan at hand. Nobody could be meaner than Medusa. Or maybe someone could be, but she could be real mean when she wanted to be, and she had yet to find someone to match her when she was really mean. Oh well! Maybe this swan would get her to that point. Maybe it wouldn't. But she liked his idea! "Medusa likes that idea! Ready when the big stranger is!" He hadn't said his name, so big stranger it was!

"Medusa"

Víðarr isn't sure he's ever met someone who referred to themselves in the third person, but that's okay. "Well, Medusa, I will keep that in mind." The viking offered a rakish grin, a toss of his head. She says she's mean, but he's not entirely sure he believes her. Regardless, it seemed like they had something fun laid out before them. The swan presented an excellent challenge. "Víðarr," he introduced, figuring they didn't have to be strangers any longer. Big stranger, well, she wasn't wrong.

With a nod and a moment to take a deep breath, the shadow sprung to life. Springing into action, rushing the swan. What Víðarr lacked in grace he made up for in pure, raw power. Muscles rippling beneath his thick, dark coat. Gaze burning brightly. Brilliantly. Yes, everything about him in that moment is absolutely brilliant. The swan came to life quickly, beating at the shadow with its wings. He snarled, trying to grab purchase anywhere he could on the creature's pale body. Gnashing, snapping teeth. Snarling and snapping, Víðarr is in his glory.

"Víðarr"