The summer days were starting to cool, leaving mornings temperate and dewy.  Viðarr can get more done.  He can work with the pack, especially the children.  Getting everyone together, and getting back to work.  Buckling down.  If he put his head down and got to work, then he didn't have to think about all the other shit.  Stay distracted, stay moving.  The viking king is good at that.  

It's a cool, cloudy morning that he steps out onto the Stone Steppe.  Calling out for his warriors-- particularly the beginners.  From here, he lays out a spread of training weapons.  Fashioned from wood, but Viðarr has done his best to weight them appropriately.  They're rough, but not bad.  Axes, halberds, and small round shields with spikes in the middle.  The viking king dragged out the roughly created dummy, as well.  About the size of a medium wolf, wrapped with different scrapes of hides.  Things that were too worn or too damaged to be good for anything else, stuck onto a wooden form like some sort of grotesque art project.  Marked off into different zones, sturdy and well repaired.  

Now all he needed were students.    
"Víðarr"

Maki looked frankly miserable, the life drained from her as she dragged her paws. It was just hard, you know? It didn't even feel like angst in her stories, cause at least then there was usually a happy ending, but as things were she couldn't see an end to the hurt that settled in her chest. A sense of loss that felt as real as an organ, had carved something out to make room for itself, but she didn't quite know what. It felt real as anything and even hiding away in fiction didn't take the edge off of it, but maybe some training might, she thought.

Seeing Viðarr waiting, having gathered some training weapons and the rather worrying looking practice dummies, she approached still looking as sullen as ever.

"M'sorry I'm late." It took all of her might not to sniffle like a pup.

table coding by bunni ♥

Celeste's passing was a blow to them all. Though the viking king had never been one for large shows of emotion, he'd been grieving the loss of his daughter in his own way. Eldest daughter. Fuck. And to look at Maki as she approached, wearing her grief on her sleeve. On the verge of tears, though he couldn't blame her. As she tries to apologize, he waves it away. Though he's many things, unreasonable isn't one of them. Instead, Víðarr moves to set a warm paw on her shoulder. He's not well versed in comfort, but doing his best.

While he'd planned on it being a larger lesson, Víðarr wouldn't be disappointed with the one on one time. His granddaughters were growing, wild and strong. How long would they stay, how long would they want to come to him for training? He'd make the most of it. "Come, lillan. You fought well during the raid, we should find you a suitable weapon." The viking king's gesture to the spread of weapons is grand, showy.

Lifting an axe, he takes it first. A few slow demonstrative swings, being sure to show off what should be good form. Grip balanced, but not too tight. Moving fluidly with the weapon, and keeping heed of which way the blades balanced. "Practice axe, but weighted like the real thing. Take a few cracks at the dummy, see how it feels. Only focus on feeling, nothing else really matters right now." Víðarr offered the wooden weapon to Maki, handle first, encouraging.

"Víðarr"