He swore he'd make these woods his home. Viðarr hadn't lost sight of that, not yet. Still biding his time, still looking for the moment to strike. Gaining momentum where he could, where he would. Growing by leaps and by bounds, and gathering momentum by the day. He was doing well for himself, though he ached for the company of his family. The children were with their mother, where things were safe and steady and stable. The lives that they were entitled to, the stability that young children needed. With things in flux for the viking, he couldn't be the father he longed to be.

And still, he'd take every chance he got. It was one of Morgana's ravens that had sought him out, that told him they were coming. Something about a birth in the Armada. In his mind, it was a little silly to uproot Sedna and all of their children just to tend to one wolf and her pups. Strange as it was, he would never turn down the chance to see the pups. They'd been wary of him the first time, and Viðarr didn't blame them. Still, this was different. He could show them the north. He could take them exploring, he could tell them stories, he could spend real, quality time with them. The shadowy viking is excited.

And so, on the edge of the Red Forest and the Armada's packlands, he comes looking for his children. Setting his nose on the ground for a moment, tracking, looking. Were they here yet? Viðarr hoped so.

"Viðarr"

The tell-tale caw of one of her ravens was what drew her out into these strange and ancient woods, similar to the oak forest by the bay but different. Verdant greens and reds painted this landscape in place of the dull greys of her homeland. This place smelled less like musty earth and more... antiseptic, the tang of it familiar on her soft palette from her time in her mother's healing room.

Despite the limp in her right hind leg from the oozing sore where she had knocked off a mushroom bumping against a stranger in the Armada marketplace, Morganna was in high spirits. Nothing was obstructing her view, nothing was blocking her ears and she could really absorb the sights of this place. It wasn't quite the same as the step-like trees of the mile-high woods, but the trees towered like ancient sentinels, sturdier than the bamboo that made up her home. It was a different sight than she had seen before and the girl drank it up like honey. Every new sight was worth savouring, and she wouldn't be satisfied until she had seen them all.

One bird landed on the ground in front of her, hopping a few steps forward and looking at her expectantly. They were intelligent creatures but she hadn't quite yet figured out what they wanted from her all the time. Her missing bird joined them, flying down from a branch overhead to land with it's friend, the birds chattering between themselves. She dropped her head and shoulders, intent on breaking up the reunion. Maybe if she could sneak close enough she could give them both a scare for leading her all the way out here without being clear about why they wanted her here.

"speech"

The ravens caught his attention. Omens, harbingers. Viðarr's head lifted, a glimmer in his eye. These weren't just ravens, they were familiar ravens. Harbingers of something alright-- they foretold the coming of a little girl. Picking up a light jog, the shadow is able to trace her scent on the shifting breeze. She came into view, limping but otherwise whole. "Tja, gumman!" He calls to her, pale eyes shining in sunlight that dappled through the trees.

"Your friends, they said you were here." Viðarr smiled warmly, gesturing up to the ravens. As he closed the gap, he reached his muzzle out to the girl. A casual greeting, but a guarded one. He was her dad, but Viðarr recognized that he was still largely a stranger. "How was your walk?" It was a long walk, he knew that much. Going down to see the pups and speak to Hattori had been a trek, after all. Such a walk for such young pups, it was good they'd come from hardy, traveler stock.

"Do you want to explore? I have something to show you." His tone was quiet, secretive. Like he was going to show her something that was for her eyes only. Mischief in the heart of the viking, and fondness for his daughter. It seemed to bring him to life in a way that was far more colorful than usual.

"Viðarr"

Translation notes--
Tja: casual greeting, sounds like "sha"
Gumman: directly translates to "old lady," is used as an endearment for little girls

Morganna was about to lose interest in her stalking and straight up ask the birds what they wanted, but before she could a familiar voice broke the silence. While she didn't know the words he spoke, she knew that voice and her tail waved at her back in greeting. Her ma had let them spend some time with this guy, one of their dads? in the boneyard and she bounded happily across the distance to grab his ear in greeting, none of his uncertainty returned. "What're you doin' out here oyaji?" Her tone was exceptionally warm around her grip on his ear, like the viking's presence was her favourite surprise of the day. She relinquished her hold only to insistently nip at the corners of his mouth and tug at the fur on his cheeks, her feet refusing to hold their place on the ground. She could hear her birds chortling in the background but paid them little mind, the big black wolf seemed to have mischief for her to get into and the mention of exploring was all the incentive she needed.

Swinging the back end of her body around to stand alongside the larger wolf's, she swung her head one way, and then the other. The dense leaf litter on the ground crunched noisily under her feet as she stomped this way and that, wondering what way they might be going, her tail thump-thumped against his ribs. There was something about the quiet way he spoke that made her think maybe she should try to be a bit sneakier, in case she scared the surprise right off. "Which way?" she whispered back excitedly, unable to contain the giggle that followed. Adventuring was more fun with company, and she couldn't wait to rub it in her brother's faces that she managed to find a dad out here without them, even better if she had a cool story to tack onto the end of it!

"speech"

Oyaji - not only means dad, but is also a generic term for a middle-aged or elderly man.

She bounces up and holds on, and Viðarr doesn't complain. Let her bounce. She could bounce, she could hold. The little girl was content to grab at his ears, yank at his face, hold on where she could find a grip. Though there was some question as to the sire of each of the pups, there wasn't a question in Viðarr's mind that Morganna was his. A little glimmer in his eye as she does, even. "The north is my home." The words come easily enough, an explanation that was good enough for now. The north was his home, and it would always be. He was relaxed as he moved beside his daughter, long steps as he led the way forward.

"Over here." Viðarr's voice remained low, confidential. Though Morganna's steps were loud and crunchy through the leaves, it didn't bother him so much. What they were off to see wasn't something that could be scared away. Wasn't something that could be spooked off, no, not yet. The nest his companion had stumbled on a few days ago was long-abandoned, though one live egg had remained inside it. Viðarr had been keeping watch over it, while he decided what to do. With his children and their visit to the north, the perfect plan hatched within his head.

"Look," the words soft as he beckons Morganna to his side. The egg and the nest pristine before him. "It is a predator-bird, I don't know what kind." He explained, his own owl shuffling in a tree high above them. "For you to hatch, and raise, and train." Viðarr watched carefully for her reaction, hoping that the gift would be well received. The shadowed creature hoped.

"Viðarr"

Only trouble when all the trunks were red and all the leaves were green was that Morganna couldn't tell one tree from the next. She trusted her friends to lead the way home at the end of the day, after all they had gotten her here, but she supposed she should stop one night and actually pay attention to the stars. They'd have to be different to home right? Anyway, those were all concerns for another day, her dad was leading the way to show her something special, and when they came upon a hole in the tree trunk, almost like one of those noisy tree peckers had hollowed it out chasing a grub, well, the only thing to do was pop up on her hind legs and take a peek.

The girl's pale green eyes grew so wide they almost rivaled the tiny white egg in size. She was careful not to breath too heavily on the delicate shell in case she broke it. "Where's her mum?" The girl whispered with concern, her brows drawing down as she looked up at the owl above with a questioning glance. Her ravens had come to perch on a branch in the same tree and while she knew their greedy looks had little to do with taking the egg and raising it as their own, she also knew they wouldn't eat her present from her dad... Would they? The thought of taking the egg and hatching it and training the little bird inside was a daunting one, but she was up for it, right? How did one even look after an egg anyway?

All problems for her mum to answer probably. She dropped back down to have all four paws on the ground and gave a determined nod. "Do we get it out of there or look after it here until it hatches?"

"speech"

Morganna's eyes went wide. Víðarr smiled softly, a little pride blooming in his chest. He had surprised her. That was good, he couldn't help but be proud of himself for that one. She neared, peering into the hollow. Víðarr stood just behind the girl, watching as she investigated. The question of the creature's mother... well, Víðarr could only shrug. "Abandoned the nest." Though the reasons behind it were unknown to the hulking shadow. Perhaps a predator had scared her off, perhaps it was something worse... such were the ways of nature. "We move it into a basket for you to take back," Víðarr nodded decisively. He looked to one of his dogs, settling down their packs and beginning to rummage. A little basket with scraps of furs for insulation, which the viking carefully arranged. Looking to Morganna now, he lifted his eyebrows. "I hold the basket, you move the whole nest?" Though phrased like a question, it was more of a directive. He was still getting the hang of this whole parenting thing. "Speech"

The girl gave a nod of agreement to her father's suggestion, of course it didn't make much sense to come all the way out here every day to look after the egg, she wasn't even sure she would find the way again, and what would happen if it hatched and she wasn't there? There were all sorts of predators to gobble up little baby birds, and wouldn't that be sad?

As her father's dogs found a basket and her dad bought it closer, she popped back up on her hind legs and gingerly reached in with her left paw, scratching at the back of the nest and sliding it forward. She held her breath as it reached the entrance of the hollow, her imagination playing a million different scenarios where the nest landed in the basket and the egg bounced out shattering on the ground, but the actual transition was rather seamless, nest and egg safely nestled in the basket so she would be able to transport them back to her temporary residence. She let out a relived sigh and started breathing again, her waving tail a hazard to whacking everything at the same height. "Gotcha!" she almost whispered as her eyes remained transfixed on the little treasure in the basket. She wondered what sort of bird would hatch, if it managed to hatch at all.

"speech"